The Gilded Cage
by Leonaria Dragonbane
Summary: Victor Creed has an obsession. Will it destroy him, or save him? I am posting my original ending for this story, it is somewhat out of the plot, Annabelle took on a life of her own, and I just couldn't end it this way.
1. Chapter 1

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a stand alone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 1

He sat there watching. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Damn, he didn't want any interruptions. He pulled it out and looked at the display. It was Arden, his current assistant. He would have to teach that boy some manners.

"What do you want, Arden?"

"I am finished with the remodel of the house, sir. Everything is as you specified."

"Did you have to call to tell me that?"

"Yes sir, per your instructions." That was right, he had told him to call and let him know when the project was done. He would let him live, this time.

"Fine, is the other project complete?"

"It is in the works, sir. Several of the designers are balking; however, I am certain enough persuasion will change their minds."

"You are authorized to use whatever persuasion you think is necessary I want this project finished by the end of the week." He snarled into the phone. He still didn't know why he was doing this. What was it that was compelling him to do this? "Make sure all my suits are cleaned and pressed, I want everything perfect."

"Yes sir, Mr. Creed. Is there anything else you need for the project?" Arden asked.

"You made sure you bought the Egyptian cotton sheets, not the Indian, 500 thread count?"

"Yes sir."

"The furnishings for the apartment are all original, no replicas?"

"Yes sir."

"The bathroom remodel is complete, no delays with the tub?"

"Yes sir, they complained about putting that tub in a room other than the master, but it was installed yesterday and functions perfectly."

"What about the door?"

"Solid steel, with steel frame bolted into the steel frame of the house. It locks from the outside, with no handle on the inside."

"Good. Wait, one more thing, I want fresh flowers in the rooms, every day, nothing heavy scented, and no wild flowers. Also, make sure the bath supplies are fresh daily, again light scent, or unscented. And move the art, the Renoir, the Picasso, the Rembrandt and the Ruben. Put the Ruben in the bedroom, over the fireplace; Renoir in the dining room, the Rembrandt in the hallway, and the Picasso in the library."

"Is there anything else, sir?"

"Yes, make sure the books in the library are all originals, move some from my private library if you have to. Set up a dummy terminal, with basic office software but no internet connection, with keystroke trackers so I can see what is typed. Stock the desk with heavy stationary, envelopes, and a good fountain pen, with ink. Put the same stationary and pen in my personal study."

"Do you want any other entertainment packages on the dummy terminal, sir?"

"No. I want as little technology as possible in the apartment."

"And the exercise room, sir?"

"I want music access only, no television, no computer, and only the elliptical bike and treadmill."

"Very good, sir, it should be ready by the end of the week at the latest."

"I want it ready in forty-eight hours."

"Yes sir."

Arden was a good assistant. He could trust him to get the job done. Hiring a butler had been a good idea. They were hard to find, but made the best and most loyal assistants. Now he just had to finish this job, and then he could start his project. He allowed himself a feral grin, his fangs showing to the night sky. Anyone who knew him would laugh at this project of his, but he didn't care. This needed to be done. He didn't know why, he didn't know why he cared, but he would do it.

The mark left the bar, and started back toward his run down apartment building. He followed, bloodlust rising. This would be a quick, easy kill; he didn't want any delays in getting started. He slipped into the window of the apartment, and set up his preparations, the plastic under the front door, to wrap the body in, the plastic sheeting on the walls to catch the spray, he didn't want anyone to know this job was done yet. He sat, waiting in the mark's favorite chair, when the door opened. He grinned at the frightened man, his eyes slipping past the mark to the door across the hall. Soon.

"Who are you?" The mark asked. He didn't even speak, just stood up, crossed the small room and closed the door quietly.

"What do you want? If it's the money, I don't have it. I can get it, I just need more time." The man was sweating bullets; he just stood there, eyes dilated in fear.

"Time's up." He whispered, reaching out and digging his claws into his throat. Not a sound, except the spray of the blood. He let it cover him, licking it off his face. He wished he had more time, time to enjoy the blood, but he had to move quickly to start his project.

He wrapped up the body in the plastic; pulled down the plastic from the walls, and slipped the whole package over his shoulder and down the fire escape to the sedan he had parked in the alley. He slipped the body in the trunk, making sure the blood stayed inside the plastic. He hated doing his own clean up, but he didn't want anyone to know the mark was missing yet. It would make the project harder to start. Arden would take care of making sure the clients knew the mark was dead. The mark was secondary, now. The project was taking all of his thoughts.

He looked down at the blood on his chest and pants. No help for it, he had to do this now, it was his only shot. He reached into the glove box of the car and pulled out a clear vial of liquid and a syringe. He slipped back up the fire escape, back into the mark's apartment, and then out and across the hallway. The building was quiet, a few sounds coming from inside some of the apartments, but no sign he had been detected. He quickly picked the lock, slipping into the dingy apartment.

There was nothing beautiful about this place; the furniture was worn, grey, no real color, no pictures, no sign that anyone lived her at all. The kitchen was bare, only a small card table and two chairs under a window to another fire escape. He picked up the pocketbook laying on the table, and slipped it into his pocket. He opened the door to the bedroom quietly. There, moonlight highlighting the hair on the pillow, was the project. He quickly slipped next to the bed, filling the syringe as he moved; just enough to keep her asleep for the drive, but not enough to kill her. He didn't want her hurt in any way.

The prick of the needle startled her a second, and then the drug worked in her system. She didn't even open her eyes. He lifted her gently out of the bed, and over his shoulder. He slipped out the door, closing and locking it behind him, leaving no trace that he had been there. He climbed down the escape from the mark's apartment and slipped her into the backseat, draping a blanket over her, laying her head on a pillow he had just for this purpose. He smiled as the light from the street corner caught her face. How had something so beautiful existed in someplace so ugly? Never again, she would never be surrounded by ugliness again.

He slipped into the driver's seat, the smell of blood in the car was strong, but his mind was focused on making it home. It was a two day drive, straight through. Arden would have her apartment ready in the house by the time he arrived. He didn't even think about the body in the trunk. Arden would take care of that too.

He looked back, every now and then, to make sure she was sleeping, was still breathing. He didn't stop, even to eat, he wanted to get her home. Finally, forty hours after leaving the city, he pulled into the garage of his palatial home. The door slid down, silently behind him, and he parked the car. Arden would clean it, replace the stolen plates with his own, and no one would know he had been in Chicago at all.

He opened the back door and lifted her limp form in his arms. He carried her into the kitchen, Arden was standing by the stove, Elaine his wife, was at the sink washing dishes. They just looked at him.

"There is some trash in the trunk that needs dealt with, Arden. Is the project ready?"

"Yes, sir, everything should be ready to your specifications."

"Good. Elaine, I want you to make sure these rags are disposed of. From this moment on, only the best will touch her skin. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir" they said in unison. He carried her out of the kitchen and up the main staircase of the house. To his left, the steel door was open; he carried her through it, and into the bedroom of the apartment. He lay her down on the Italian oak bed, the silk canopy moving slightly from the breeze of his passage. Elaine was behind him.

"Sir, I will have to cut the garments off, and bathe her, you will want the blood removed." She said, she had a pair of sheers from the kitchen.

"If you leave a mark on her…" he growled.

"Sir, I will be extremely gentle. You might consider changing and cleaning up yourself. The Armani is clean and ready." He nodded as she placed the edge of the sheers against the sleeve of the blood soaked T shirt she was wearing. Elaine started to cut the garment away, and he turned and left the room. He needed to clean up, to be ready when she woke.

"Sir" Arden was standing at the steel door. "How long will the lady be a guest? I will need to plan meals accordingly."

"Until I let her go, plan on indefinitely." He growled. Arden just nodded, and turned away from him as he passed by. For a clean up man, he was squeamish about blood. He walked into the right hand corridor, and slipped into his own bedroom. The computer on the desk blinked at him. He would have to check his messages, but first he wanted to clean up. He ran the shower hot, and stepped in, clothing and all. These rags would go in the trash, he ripped them off. Work clothes were never reused. No matter how much bleach was used, you couldn't get the smell of blood out of them. He grabbed his shampoo and washed the long mane of tawny hair. He wanted to be clean, well groomed when she met him. He was shaving when Arden cleared his throat at the bathroom door.

"What is it?"

"I contacted the clients; the money is wired to the account. You have five new messages in your inbox, and the voicemail on the business phone is full. Do you want me to clear the messages and forward you the most important, or would you like to listen to them, sir?"

"Clear the messages, I am not taking any jobs for at least a month, if any of them are from Erik or Raven, forward those, the rest, you can call back and let them know I am on vacation. I will check my email myself." He leaned down and rinsed the shaving cream off his face. "I want the cameras on my desktop by the time I am dressed, I want the steel plates down in the apartment windows, her day starts when she wakes up, you will fix her breakfast and have it ready after her bath. I will arrange my schedule to match hers."

He walked to the closet. The Armani suit was hanging on the outside of the door. He ignored it for now. That would be for dinner. He slipped into a dress shirt and tailored pair of slacks, the Italian leather loafers over fine cotton dress socks. He debated a tie, and decided against it. This was his home, he wanted to relax. Ties were for dinner.

Arden left the room shortly before he slipped his feet into the loafers. On the screen of his computer were the six camera shots of the private apartment. Bedroom, with her sleeping on the bed, covered in the best sheets money could buy, bathroom door open. Dining room, place setting for one, sideboard set, silver chafing dishes ready. Exercise room, equipment ready for use. Library, comfortable chairs and sofa, books lining the walls, and the terminal quietly glowing with a screensaver of the wonders of the world on the desk. Music room, a grand piano on one side of the room just waiting for fingers to pluck out a tune; with an assortment of instruments available for use hanging on the wall, and a hidden sound system if she just wanted to listen; and the Parlor, Queen Anne furniture through out, different projects available to keep her occupied.

He just watched her sleep. She should be waking soon, an hour or so. It would give him time to check email, respond to any important voicemail and make a few phone calls of his own. He was taking his first vacation in years, something many of his clients were not going to like. A few of them deserved a personal explanation, and would get it.

The emails were quickly taken care of. Nothing there was even tempting to take so he turned them all down, without explanation. He returned two voicemail messages, one to a regular client, declining, politely the million dollar offer, and explaining that he needed to take a month off. They were quite pleased to accept that, and even offer to wait the month so that they could have him make the hit. He liked good clients. The other voicemail was Erik. That one took some finessing, but finally he convinced him that he needed the break.

He called his bank, confirming the transfer to the business account, and setting up another account, for the household, that Arden or Elaine could draw on if his guest needed anything. He called his attorney, to clear up a few details in his business matters. He looked over and saw the pocketbook on his desk. Arden must have found it and placed it there. He popped the snap, and began to go through it.

A checkbook, balance under one hundred dollars, her drivers license, Annabelle Jenkins, a couple of credit cards, but no photos, nothing personal. Such a waste, how could something so perfect live with nothing in her life. He remembered the first time he saw her, coming out of that drab building. Her hair had been blowing in the wind, and she had looked up, sunlight bathing her face. She looked like a Botticelli, perfect, graceful, and out of place. He knew then she was a jewel in the wrong setting, something he could fix, and set out to do just that. He didn't think he had ever been this obsessed, not with a woman.

His obsession with the Runt didn't count. This was different. He wanted to protect her, to keep her from everything ugly in the world, to surround her only with the best, only with beauty. He wanted her to be happy here. Anything she wanted all she would have to do is ask. He would be at her command; the only thing he would never do is let her go. He watched the screen. She was beginning to stir.


	2. Chapter 2

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a stand alone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 2

She was lying on her stomach, something she never did. The pillow under her head was soft, and fluffed, not the flat beaten down pillow she was used to. She didn't ache, her entire body felt rested, and she felt like she was wrapped in a cloud, not the rough sheets she was used to sleeping on. She tried to remember where she was, but the last thing she remembered was going to bed in her apartment. She opened her eyes and quickly closed them again. Had to be a dream, she cracked one eye. Nope, no dream, there was a good three feet between the end of her fingers and the nightstand, a nightstand that was probably worth more than a year's rent in her apartment. There was no clock. She pushed herself up, and rolled over. This bed was huge; the canopy was as big as her entire bedroom had been. She didn't know where she was, or how she got here, but she wasn't going to start complaining, yet.

The heavy wooden door to the room opened and an older man in a suit entered, carrying a tray with a silver coffee pot and a single cup on it. She started to sit up, and that was when she realized she was naked. She pulled the sheet up to her chin. Now she was starting to get nervous.

"Good morning, miss." He said in a heavy English accent. "The master wasn't certain if you took tea or coffee in the mornings. Being a colonial, I assumed coffee. If I am incorrect, I can make a pot of tea."

"Coffee is fine." She said.

"Cream and sugar, or black?" he asked.

"Cream and sugar, please." She replied.

She kept her death grip on the sheet as he handed her the cup and saucer.

"The closet, dresser and chest are filled with garments tailored for you. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to let me know." She looked at him, dumbfounded. Tailored clothes for her? 

"I think there has been some mistake." She said, sipping the coffee. Well that was the best cup of coffee she had ever tasted.

"No, miss, no mistake, my wife will be in shortly to draw you a bath. What would you like for breakfast?"

"Breakfast?" he wanted to make her breakfast. She was scrambling trying to understand what was going on. "Whatever, eggs, bacon, toast, I guess."

"How would you like your eggs?"

"Whatever works for you?" He chuckled.

"Very well, miss. This is your portion of the house. You may not pass the steel door at the end of the hallway, but everything here is for your use. The master wanted to make sure you understand the rules."

"What rules?" Now she was getting scared, who was this master anyway? 

"Rule number one, of course, you may not leave this wing of the house. The windows are blocked, and you cannot get out that way. Rule number two, I and my wife Elaine are here to see to your needs and take any messages to the master; you will not try to communicate with him directly, unless he contacts you." She just blinked at him. Was he saying she was a prisoner? "Rule three, any attempt at escape will be considered punishable, and take my advice, you do not wish to be punished. Rule number four, you are to conduct and dress yourself according to the master's instructions. This morning he requests that you find a comfortable day outfit, he will introduce himself sometime later in the day. You may spend the morning acquainting yourself with you new surroundings. Elaine will lay out your dinner dress, the master requests that you dine with him this evening."

She just sat there, her jaw open. What the hell was going on? She was a prisoner!

"Just who are you?" She asked.

"You may call me Arden. I am the butler, my wife Elaine is the housekeeper. This button connects you directly to the staff intercom; you can contact either one of us at any time through it." He showed her a button next to the door.

"Why am I here?" She asked, beginning to become hysterical.

"The master will explain that, later. For now" the door opened behind him and a matronly woman entered. She was dressed in a plain black dress. "Elaine will draw you a bath and assist with selecting your outfit. Breakfast will be served in the dining room in one hour." He turned and walked out. The woman entered the open door of the bathroom, and set the water running in the bath.

"Lilac or lavender for your bath, miss?" She asked.

"I don't care." She was sitting in the most beautiful bed in the most beautiful room she had ever seen, a butler and housekeeper at her beck and call, and she was scared out of her mind. Things like this didn't happen to girls like her. The smell of lavender came out of the bathroom. The woman came out, and walked to the dresser. She pulled out a silk bathrobe and laid it across the bed, then walked to the closet and opened it.

The closet was huge; her whole apartment would have fit inside. Elaine looked over at her, and then pulled three dresses down from one of the racks.

"Which one do you prefer, miss?" She shook her head. She had a choice?

"The blue one" she didn't even look at the dresses. How could they act like this was normal?

"Very well, miss, I will lay out your necessaries while you bathe." Necessaries; did she mean underwear?

She grabbed the robe and slipped it on before getting out of the bed. She walked to the bathroom, her feet sinking into the carpet, like a thick layer of fresh cut grass. It tickled the bottoms of her feet, it was so soft. The marble tile of the bathroom was cool as she stepped on it. The bath was full of bubbles.

"That isn't a bathtub it's a swimming pool." She said out loud.

She heard Elaine laugh in the other room. She slipped out of the robe and hung it on what she hoped was a brass hook in the wall. The water was perfect, warm and soothing. Elaine waited until she was settled before turning on the jets. Oh God it was a whirlpool. She closed her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to think about any of this yet. Right now she was trying to decide if it was some weird dream and she just couldn't wake up. The whole experience had been so surreal that she couldn't accept it as fact.

"Miss, I laid your necessaries on the bed. You have about half an hour until breakfast." said the older woman from the doorway of the bathroom.

"Thank you." She replied. She still had no idea what to make of all of this. She was afraid, but at the same time, a little guilty. She was really enjoying the luxury of all of this. She slipped out of the tub and dried off with the thick towel hanging on the rack. She slipped into the silk robe and looked at herself in the mirror.

"What have you gotten yourself into, Annabelle?" She asked. She picked up a brand new hairbrush from the counter and began to untangle her long strawberry blonde hair. Her green eyes stared back at her from the mirror, and she chewed on her lower lip, confused, and more than a little scared. This place was more luxurious than any hotel she had ever seen. She walked out into the bedroom, laying on the bed was a light blue lacy bra, panties to match, stockings, not hose, and a garter belt, The blue dress hung from a hook on the wall, and a pair of matching shoes lay on the floor under it. She didn't know why but she felt like she was being watched. She grabbed the under things and dress and went back into the bathroom to dress. She had never worn a garter belt in her life and had no idea what she was doing. Luckily there was one of those buttons next to the door in here and she pushed it.

"Yes, miss." Said Arden's voice over a speaker hidden in the wall.

"Could you ask Elaine to come in here a moment?"

"Certainly, miss."

A few minutes later, the older woman entered the room. She took one look and realized the problem. Annabelle blushed the whole time she was straightening out the mess she had made with the garter belt. She pulled the dress over her head, and Elaine zipped the back for her.

"The master has requested that you wear minimal or no makeup, miss" said the older woman as she left the room; not like that was a problem anyway.

She walked back out into the bedroom and slipped into the shoes. Everything fit her perfectly, even the shoes felt like they had been made specifically for her feet. She opened the closet, and looked inside. There had to be thousands of dollars worth of clothing hanging in there. Dresses, suits, slacks, but no jeans, no T shirts, no shorts, everything was custom made, no labels, not even in the shoes. All the shoes were real leather, no man made materials that she could see. There were evening gowns, but nothing to relax in, no sweats for lounging around, no comfortable clothes for being a slouch. She was becoming more frightened by the moment. She opened the door and looked outside. She was in the last room at the end of a long hallway with five other doors on either side, and a large steel door at the end. She was trapped, by that door.

She took a deep breath and began to walk down the hallway, there was a painting on one wall, it looked like "The Rape of Europa" by Rembrandt but there was no way. That had to be in a museum somewhere. She could swear she had seen it in the Chicago Museum of Art on a traveling exhibition several years ago. The doorway across from her bedroom was open. Inside was a padded mat, an exercise bike and a treadmill, there were no curtains in that room and she could see the window was covered by a sheet of metal. Arden hadn't been joking. She couldn't get out the windows.

The next room she looked into looked like a library. Floor to ceiling bookcases, filled with books, a built in desk with a computer monitor against one wall. She quickly walked across the room and tried to access a web browser, but there wasn't one installed. She looked for the CPU but couldn't find one, just a keyboard, mouse and monitor. It had office software installed but not much else. She walked away from it, disappointed. What did she expect; who ever set this thing up had the money to do whatever they wanted. Did she honestly think they would forget something as simple as internet access?

Across the hall was the dining room, Arden was in there, laying out her breakfast. He smiled and held out the chair. The food smelled good. She decided if they were going to kill her, it wasn't going to be with poison. Why go to all this trouble? She sat quietly in the chair. He placed a plate with two eggs over easy, bacon, and rye toast with butter and marmalade on it.

"The master will join you in the parlor after breakfast." He said as he poured juice into a glass. "He requests that you relax. No one will harm you here. He will explain everything to you; he just asks that you please try to contain your fear."

She nodded. She could give him a chance to explain. This had been the best morning of her life so far, she had never felt so pampered and spoiled in her life. She heard Arden leave through the heavy door at the end of the hallway. She was surprised she couldn't hear it in her bedroom, but with the heavy wooden doors and walls these rooms were practically soundproof. Curiosity had always been her downfall. She had gotten into more trouble as a child because she didn't have the sense to be afraid; she had to know what was going on.

She had been three when her father had to pull her down off of the roof because she had climbed up to see what the roofer's were doing to her house, she had been six when they had to rush her to the hospital because she wanted to know what was making that rattling sound under the back porch. She had been eleven when she had been pulled out of the morgue, because she wanted to see what had happened to her parents in the crash. She had been fifteen, and there had been no one to pull her out, when she wanted to know what the boys' locker room looked like at school. She had been twenty when she wanted to know what it was like to live in a big city, and left the small town where she was born, and now, she wanted to know what was going on, instead of being frightened, her overwhelming emotion was curiosity.

She finished her breakfast, folded her napkin and placed it next to the plate, and went to look at the last two rooms. One was filled with musical instruments; a huge grand piano on one side, the other is what he called the parlor. She looked over the room, it was covered in pale tan wallpaper, the furnishings looked expensive, and she sat, gingerly in a wing backed chair.

She heard the steel door open. She closed her eyes. She felt him before she saw him. He just took up that much space. He was tall, his long blonde hair pulled back in a leather thong, his eyes so dark they looked black. He was dressed in a tailored white dress shirt and a dark pair of slacks. He was clean shaven, and quite handsome, his eyes were his most arresting feature. She let out the breath she had been holding. Ok, so this wasn't that bad. He didn't look like a homicidal maniac.

He gave her a small smile, as he lowered himself onto the chair opposite her. He had legs that went on for miles. He had to be over six and a half feet tall at least.

"How was your morning?" He asked his voice gravely.

"Interesting?" she replied.

He chuckled, and then just looked at her, his eyes piercing her, daring her to ask the questions on her mind.

"Why am I here?" She finally whispered. For a moment she doubted he heard her.

"I am not entirely certain I can explain that. I am still trying to understand my reasoning myself. There was something about you, something that needed to be put in the right setting. You didn't belong there; you didn't belong among those common things, that common place."

"What?"

"I told you it was difficult to explain." His voice was harsh, almost as if he used it rarely.

"So you just, what, took me?" She looked at him, incensed.

"Yes. I usually take what I want." Now she was getting scared again.

"What you want?"

"Yes. Some things it is easier to buy, some it is easier to just take. As long as you live by my rules, you will not be hurt in any way." Live by his rules, as his prisoner. He was glaring at her now. She took a deep breath.

"Just how long are you planning on keeping me here?"

"I don't know. Annabelle, I don't want you to be afraid of me. I just couldn't stand something so beautiful being surrounded by so much ugliness. I can't explain it any better than that."

"Just what do you want from me?" She asked him again.

"Nothing, I simply would like your company, to dine with you, to talk with you, to see you beautifully dressed, among beautiful things. I don't think that is too much to ask, considering the trouble and expense I have gone through to create this place for you."

"Create this place, this prison." She wanted to shout, but his shear size was intimidating. She was afraid, afraid of what he might do. So far this had been pleasant, but she had a sinking feeling that if she opposed him, it could get unpleasant very quickly.

"Please, don't think of it that way. In time, as you become more comfortable, you will be allowed to leave, to enjoy public events, at my side. But for now, until you are comfortable with how your life will be, you will remain here."

How her life would be. Who the hell did he think he was? She didn't realize she said that last out loud.

"I am the man who owns this house, who provides your clothing, your comforts, and your food. All I ask in return is companionship, conversation, pleasant company. If I get bored, or this gets tiresome, things may change. You exist to please me, believe me that should be your one goal." He said the last with a growl in his voice. A look passed over his face, something that said looks could be deceiving. This man was dangerous, very dangerous.

"Do you have a name I can call you." The words came out as another whisper.

"Victor."

She just nodded. He stood up, slowly, allowing her to get a good feel for his shear mass. "I will see you at dinner, then." He said as he left the room. She heard the door open, and then slam shut behind him. She stood up, to go back to her room, but black dots swam before her vision and she collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.


	3. Chapter 3

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 3

He walked into his room, anger seething out of his pores. How dare she? He took her out of that squalor, out of that dingy apartment, gave her every luxury and she dared ask who the hell he thought he was. He looked over at the screen on his desk, prepared to see her angry, pacing, throwing something; he wasn't prepared to see her lying on the floor in the parlor.

"ARDEN." He shouted.

"Yes sir," replied the butler, calmly walking to the bedroom door.

"Find out if she is ok." He pointed to the screen. Arden left immediately, and he watched as he walked into the apartment, and into the parlor. He watched as the man gently patted her hands, trying to revive her. He watched as her eyelids fluttered open, and then even through the steel, solid wood and paneling, heard her scream. He closed his eyes. That was not what he wanted to hear. She wasn't like other women. She was a masterpiece, a work of art, not a frail to be used and thrown away. He DIDN'T want to hear her scream. He had left her, her fear driving him away. He expected it, would tolerate it to a point, but her screams, they hit something deep inside him, something that made him want to sink his claws into something.

"Elaine, I am going out. I will be back for dinner. Make sure the beige shirt is pressed to go with the Armani." He needed to get away, where he couldn't hear her scream. He almost ran to the garage, and slipped behind the wheel of the Aston Martin. He needed to get away. He pulled out of the garage and down the long drive to the main road. He drove, daring a cop to pull him over. He had no problem gutting a cop. The moon shone down, her day was night. She would never know the difference, especially if she continued to fear him. He could still hear her screaming. He needed blood; he needed to silence the screams. He didn't want her afraid of him; he didn't want to hear her scream.

He pulled into a small bar, not even setting the car alarm, as he got out. Let someone mess with his car, please. He really wanted to kill something. He walked into the room; it was quiet, which didn't suit his mood a bit. He walked up to the bar and ordered a beer. The bartender was cute, her black hair curly, and her eyes soft and inviting. He sneered at her. She wasn't a masterpiece. He knew he would have to satisfy himself with something common; his masterpiece wasn't for his touch. She was perfection, not for his base lusts. He downed the beer in three gulps, and ordered another.

She was perfect. He remembered watching her, her modesty apparent when she wouldn't dress in the bedroom. Elaine had reported on her physical perfection, not a scar, not a mar on her body, her proportions perfect, and a true match to the Venus. She was his living Venus; she didn't need to rise from the sea, he had found her in a trash pile, saved her from being corrupted by the disease and decay around her, created a perfect beautiful world for her to live in, and she would learn to appreciate it, to appreciate him.

She had a right to be afraid, to be angry, but he would only allow so much. She would get used to the idea, she had no choice. The bartender flashed him another smile, he just threw the money for the beers on the bar and walked out. She wasn't what he wanted, and for tonight, she should be grateful. She didn't know how close she came to satisfying his lusts, both of them. He growled to himself. Perhaps a whore in Seattle that would take care of this and no one would miss the body when he was done. He cringed at the idea. He didn't want a whore; he wanted her, but not like that, not with blood and pain. He didn't know how he was going to deal with this. Then the perfect opportunity presented itself. Several loggers, out spending their pay, passed him on the road, laughing at passing the fancy sports car in the old truck they were driving. He grinned, fresh meat. Blood would settle him down, and there was plenty in that truck. He sped up, following them; they pulled off the road, five of them getting out of the truck.

He grinned, just what he was looking for, a group of idiots itching for a fight. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He didn't want blood on it; it was one of his favorites. He walked to the trunk and pulled out a towel and a box of those baby wipes. They took the blood off of his fur fairly well, especially fresh blood. He laid the shirt in the bottom of the trunk, the pants wouldn't show blood that badly, but that fine lawn of the shirt would stain, and that shirt was a custom made job.

The loggers were still talking trash at him he just grinned at them. This would be fun. The first one threw a punch at his middle; he just caught the fist, and crushed it, letting the man see his fangs, before sinking the claws into his arm. Three others jumped on him, trying to take him down. He caught a foot to the ribs and grunted a bit. That hurt, but like all the blows they landed it would heal quickly. He kicked out and sent one of them hurling against the side of the truck. The fifth one pulled a knife, now things really got interesting. They were willing to use deadly force, so was he. He gave a brief thought to wondering if they had frails at home or cubs, and then the fight was truly on. By the time it was over, all five were dead, blood flowing in the road. He left them laying there, the knife still in the hand of the one who had pulled it. Let the cops think they had killed each other; his claw slashes looked enough like knife wounds that no one would question it.

He wiped his face with the towel, using the wipes to clean his hands and face. He felt relaxed again; his masterpiece was safe from his needs. He opened the trunk again and put the towel and used wipes inside a plastic bag for that purpose. Detailing the Aston Martin wasn't worth allowing bloodstains in the trunk. He was going to have to make sure he had an outlet, until she accepted the way things had to be. Perhaps he would take that job, but no it would take him away from home. He would work out something. He backed up to the road, got out of the car again and scuffed away his tire tracks. No one would know he had even been there.

He drove back to the house, pulled into the garage, opened the trunk and dumped the plastic bag in the trash. Arden would burn it tomorrow. He stepped into the shower in the garage, rinsing the blood off his body and out of the pants. Elaine would have trouble getting the blood out, but he had faith in her capabilities, and if they were ruined, well he would just order another pair. After he toweled off and pulled out a robe from the emergency closet, he pulled his shirt out of the trunk and slammed it closed. He looked up, Arden was standing in the door to the kitchen.

"Is there anything I should do, sir."

"Na, one of them pulled a knife. Let the cops think they killed each other. There is nothing to show I was there. How is she?"

"Calmer. We didn't have to medicate her; she managed to calm down on her own. Her fear seems to be contained. I don't have your senses, sir, but she seems more resigned than anything." Alden simply stood there.

"Do you have something to say?" He pushed past the man in the door, entering his home.

"Yes, sir, I do. She seems like a nice girl, not the type you have been known to bring home on occasion. She doesn't know who you are, or what you do, and she is already frightened. You will have to tell her eventually, and when you do, she will become even more frightened before she accepts it. If you are going to need a bloodbath every time she becomes frightened, you will singlehandedly disseminate the population of the Pacific Northwest. If I might offer a suggestion, either do whatever you plan on doing with her, or do not take this month vacation, continue working. You will need the respite, at least until she adjusts, if you intend to keep her here indefinitely."

He looked at the man, when had he hired him, ten no fifteen years ago. The man had a right to speak his mind, and on the rare occasions he exercised that right, he made sense, like now. He nodded, slowly.

"You are right; I will look into the jobs that come in. I don't want to leave the house if I can help it, I want to be here, to help her adjust, but we can't afford to attract too much attention. Make sure the jet is available and fueled at the airport in case I have to make a quick run to take a job, other than that, we will continue as planned." He walked up the stairs, resting his head against the steel door. He couldn't hear her; he couldn't smell fear seeping around the door. He needed to go dress for dinner.

He wanted to see what she was doing; he opened the door to his bedroom and walked to the desk. He watched her, in the library, looking over the titles on the shelves. He hoped she would find a book and settle down. He watched her move, graceful, elegant. It was amazing what the right clothes and the right shoes could do to make a woman move like a woman. He smiled. The blood had helped; he wasn't in need of immediate gratification any more. Sex wasn't on his agenda for a while, if it happened with her, it would not be what he was used to, violent, bloody and deadly. He would never allow his world to touch her; the ugliness he dealt with daily would never darken her door, her life, if he could stop it.

She selected a book, and he zoomed in to see the title. Shakespeare, interesting, the sonnets, not the plays, she had good taste. She sat in one of the chairs, kicking off her shoes and curling her legs up under her. He smiled at how relaxed she looked. He hoped this wouldn't take long for her to accept. The sooner the better, working would be easier if he didn't have to worry about leaving her here. His stomach began to growl, he could smell dinner cooking. Hiring Alden and Elaine had been one of the wisest decisions he had made, they made his home, well a home. Well cooked meals, clean clothing, and a clean house, ready to entertain at a moment's notice, even though he rarely entertained at home. He was looking forward to entertaining with her at his side.

No, not here, perhaps the penthouse, maybe the New York apartment, this was his home, his retreat, he didn't want strangers here. It took three years to trust Alden and Elaine with his home, bringing his masterpiece here, was completely out of character. He knew the couple who cared for his home were surprised by this move, but not as surprised as he was. He ran a hot bath in his own huge tub and soaked. He thought back over the last few weeks.

He first saw her three weeks ago. He had been stalking the mark in Chicago, and saw her come out of that building. That had been the first time he realized that there was something more to her. He watched her more than he did the mark; he learned where she lived, where she went, where she worked. He watched her in her dingy office, sitting in an empty cubicle, he watched her in her dingy apartment, sitting home every night, reading. She didn't even own a television. He knew what books she read, checking them out of the local library instead of buying them. He watched her pick up take out instead of cooking, eating at home alone, no life, so social interaction. He watched as she slowly began to decay, to become the grey lifeless things around her. He had to stop it; he had to save her, to save the perfection he had found.

He had a great appreciation for art, he enjoyed looking at it, he enjoyed owning it, possessing it, and she was a living work of art. That is what it was; she was a living work of art, something he appreciated. Something he owned, she belonged to him. That is why he did this, why she was here. It made sense in his mind, now he just had to find a way to make her accept it, without fear. Her fear set of his instincts; he needed her not to be afraid. He needed her, her acceptance, her company. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh; see her in the beautiful things he had created for her. He smiled at the memory of her in that dress. It clung to her curves, without being obviously intentionally sexy. Watching her sit in that chair, with a book, had made him want to be sitting on the floor, listening to her read to him, resting his head on her knee.

"Sir, she is asking when you will be joining her for dinner." Alden stood at the entrance to the bathroom.

"She actually is expecting me for dinner?" He was somewhat surprised. "What did you tell her?"

"That she was your guest and that she was in her apartment for safety. I didn't tell her anything about you, or what you do, but I did imply that it was safety concerns that caused the security measures in the apartment."

"Good job. That will make it easier to accept." He stood up, grabbing one of the towels, and wrapping it around his waist. "Did Elaine press the beige shirt?"

"Yes, sir, it is with the Armani. Do you have a specific tie you wish to wear?"

"No. Just grab one that will match." He ran a brush through his mane, pulling it back and tying it with a simple black satin ribbon. He lathered up and shaved again. He hadn't put this much effort into his appearance in years. He stepped out into the bedroom. He could tell she was in the bathroom; her dress was hanging on the door, Elaine collecting the clothes from earlier for cleaning. He pulled on the beige silk shirt, the dark chocolate pants, and tied the simple brown silk tie. He shrugged into the jacket, buttoning it and looking at himself in the mirror. His brown dress shoes were sitting by the chair at the desk, he leaned over to pull them on, just as she stepped out of her own bathroom. She was wearing a slip and he stopped what he was doing, watching Elaine help her into the gown for dinner. His mouth went dry, his hands trembled, and he had trouble swallowing. He shook his head and finished tying his shoes. This was going to be a very long evening.

He stood up, and looked in the full length mirror. The suit fit perfectly, of course, he paid for the best, and expected nothing less than perfection. He smiled. He looked impressive; he hoped she would be impressed. He stood waiting at the desk. He watched her walk out of the bedroom and enter the dining room of her suite a few minutes later. Arden held her chair out, and placed her napkin in her lap. That was his cue. Dinner would be served once he was seated at the table. She was beautiful; the small image on the screen didn't do her justice. He just hoped he would be able to breathe once he was in the same room with her.


	4. Chapter 4

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily. The lines from the play are Shakespeare's Troilus and Cressida.

Chapter 4

She sat at the table waiting, hands folded in her lap. Arden had explained that the entire house had similar security measures, that it wasn't just her area. If he was that afraid, that concerned for safety perhaps it wasn't a prison. She shook her head. Of course it was. She wasn't allowed to leave; she had no choice, no freedom. She was confused, why would a man, obviously wealthy, obviously attractive, have to go to these lengths for a companion.

She was nervous about this evening. What did he expect from her? He didn't mention sex, didn't act in the least bit interested in her sexually, at least in the one meeting she had with him. She heard the door open; she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was apprehensive. He had been angry when he left her earlier. She hoped he wasn't angry any more.

"You are lovely, this evening." He said softly as he entered the room. She couldn't help it she smiled at the compliment. She hadn't had a whole lot of those in her life.

"Thank you…" She stopped. He thought SHE looked lovely. He was perfect. "I have to say you do too."

He closed his eyes and gave a little chuckle. He seated himself at the opposite end of the table, unfolded his napkin and laid it across his lap. Arden and Elaine came in, each carrying a try with the first course. It was a light fruit salad. She looked at the array of silverware and was extremely grateful to her grandmother for making her learn the proper use of each piece. There was a couple here that she wasn't aware of but she hoped she could make her way through this dinner.

"How was your afternoon?" He asked quietly.

"Nice. You have an impressive library." She smiled. She had enjoyed finding many of her favorite books on those shelves.

"If there is anything you would like, let Arden or Elaine know, and I will make sure it is provided."

"It would take me years to get through what is in there. I doubt I will read them all."

His eyes tightened. She had made him angry. "I didn't mean…"

"No." He took a deep breath. "I understand what you meant."

She quietly finished her salad. He didn't say anything else through the first course. Arden and Elaine came in with the second plate, a grilled salmon with almonds. She loved salmon, and smiled when she saw the dish.

"You like salmon?" His voice was light again.

"Yes." She smiled. She took her first bite and just closed her eyes. It was cooked perfectly, a little on the rare side, just starting to flake. She heard a strange sound from the other end of the table. It sounded like a cross between a moan and a growl. She opened her eyes, but he seemed to be concentrating on his plate.

"Arden told me you have a security concern that is why this place is like Fort Knox."

"Yes. I own many original pieces of art, and the entire house is secured, to keep them safe."

"I have been admiring the ones you placed here. Are they all originals?"

"Yes. I don't own replicas or duplicates." Oh. That definitely put a different spin on things; she could understand the security now. The Ruben in her bedroom was worth millions.

"It is an impressive collection. The books in the library are all original editions too, I noticed."

"Yes." The older couple came in and cleared the plates, and then served light bisque.

Keeping conversation light and away from the whole prisoner idea was getting difficult for her. It was always in the back of her mind. She had to choose her words carefully. She didn't want to make him angry again.

"How was your day?" She finally managed to ask. It sounded like he choked on his soup; maybe not a good thing to ask.

"Quiet, I took a drive." He finally answered.

"It must have been lovely this afternoon." Her voice was wistful. She loved the afternoons, especially on a sunny day.

"It was overcast; I just went to clear my head." He said.

The soup bowls were cleared, and a light grilled shrimp and endive salad was presented for the next course. She seemed to be holding her own, with the silverware anyway.

"So tell me about you." He said suddenly.

She looked down at her plate. "There isn't much to tell."

"I am certain there is." He smiled, and suddenly she wanted to tell him. He was so charming. She still didn't understand why he had to resort to kidnapping for company.

"I was born in a small town in Illinois. My parents were married right out of high school, my dad worked in the local library, my mom stayed at home with me. When I was eleven they were killed in a car accident and my grandparents raised me. When I turned twenty I decided I wanted to see what life in a city was like, so I applied for a job in Chicago. That was three years ago."

"There must be more to you than that?" He smiled.

"Ok, I am insatiably curious. I had to be rushed to the hospital when I was six after a rattlesnake bit me because I wanted to know what the noise under the porch was." He chuckled.   
"I was thrown out of the morgue after my parents died because I wanted to see them, and the officers didn't think an eleven year old could handle it. I snuck in anyway and the coroner threw me out." He winced, she smiled. She sometimes still had nightmares of seeing her father with that Y incision lying on a metal table, cuts covering his face.

"I love to read. I don't have much use for television or movies. I love art, and music, and theater. That was one of the things I loved about Chicago, was the museums, the plays, the opera, the concerts. I would save money for weeks to spend a weekend in one of the museums. I would go on Saturday, go back on Sunday, pay admission twice and just go room by room."

The salad plates were cleared and a plate of prime rib and steamed asparagus was placed in front of her. Would this dinner never end?

"So tell me about you." She said, hoping not to make him angry by asking.

He actually smiled at her. "I was raised in the backwoods of Canada, my father and I didn't get along, and I left before I was sixteen. My mother died not long before I ran away. I worked in logging camps for a while, and then joined the military when I was old enough. I made some good contacts while in the military, and after my enlistment, I went to work security for a company. It paid well, well enough that I was able to start investing a little money; I did some early investing in the .com market, but got out before it crashed. I still do freelance security work for a few companies." She was surprised. She had expected him to be from old money, from the house, the furnishings, the old world atmosphere of the staff.

"I guess we aren't so different after all." She said. She was about to ask him more when Arden came in, and whispered something to him. He glared at the butler, and then nodded his head.

"If you will excuse me, I have some business I need to take care of downstairs. Please continue dinner. I will be back up later." He gave her a slight bow, something that took her by surprise, and left the room. She finished her dinner and refused the desert. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She stood up, putting her napkin next to her plate and stepped into the hallway. The door was open and she could hear voices downstairs.

"…bodies were found along the highway. An Aston Martin was seen at a local bar, and then along the same road. Do you own an Aston Martin, Mr. Creed?"

"Yes I do. I went for a drive earlier. I stopped at the bar, drank a couple of beers, and then drove back here. I had a fight with my wife if you must know." His wife?

"Well the truck was found along the road to your estate, all five men were dead on the side of the road. Do you know anything about that?"

"No. A truck passed me on the road, and I admit I was challenged by it. I simply passed them and headed home."

"We'd like to see the car." Said another voice.

"It's in the garage. I was having dinner with my wife, if you don't mind."

"Is that the same wife you were fighting with?"

"Yes. We have only been married a few days." She heard him chuckle.

"Ahh, I remember those days." Laughed one of the other men "My wife and I fought for weeks, just so we could make up." She heard the sound of male laughter. Elaine came up the stairs, and looked at her in shock.

Annabelle stepped back from the door, thinking Elaine was going to shut it, instead she gestured for her to step out and go downstairs. Annabelle shook her head, stepping back further into her safe suite.

"He needs you to support him. To know you will. The sooner you prove that, the sooner this door comes down." Elaine whispered to her. She could hear the men moving deeper into the house. She nodded slowly. This could be her chance. She could let one of them know…no she wouldn't do that. Something told her that would be the very wrong move to make.

She stepped to the top of the stairs, one hand on the rail. "Darling, are you coming back to dinner?" He looked up at her, surprise on his face. The three men with him, looked up, jaws slack. She walked slowly down the stairs, and stood at his side. "Victor, what is all of this about? Who are these men and why are they interrupting us?" She put a hand, gently on his arm. He smiled down at her, and placed a hand over hers.

"There were some men killed in a brawl on the main road. We are the closest house to where the incident occurred. They wanted to know if I had seen anything on my drive earlier."

"That's horrible." She said, looking at the three men, who were obviously police.

"We'll just take a look at the car and be on our way." Said the middle one, he appeared to be the man in charge. Alden led them to the garage. She smiled at the three officers, but inside she was more than impressed. The Aston Martin was sitting in the middle of the garage, there was a large Cadillac sedan, a custom Harley Davidson motorcycle, a classic 1952 MG roadster, and those were the cars she could see from the door.

The three men looked over the Aston Martin, opening the trunk, the doors looking for something. Evidently they didn't find it, because they just smiled at the two of them standing in the door and walked back into the house.

"Thank you, Mr. Creed. If you remember anything else, please give us a call." The older man handed him a card, he slipped it into his jacket pocket. They walked the officers to the door, she was surprised by the streaming sunlight coming in through the door. Alden closed it behind them. He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"Thank you." He said simply.

She just nodded and started toward the stairs. He reached out and gripped her elbow, enough to hold her, not hard enough to bruise, although she could feel the tension in his hand.

"I am not in the mood to finish dinner." He said.

"That's alright." She said, turning to look at him. There was a dangerous glint in his eye, the same glint that had been there when he left the parlor. She stood there, waiting for his next move, looking him straight in the eyes.

"It is early afternoon. If you would like, I can show you the rest of the house." She nodded, and he held out his arm. He guided her through the ground floor, the large dining room, the kitchen, the large media room full of computers, televisions, and even a movie projector and screen; a formal living room, a study, another library, and two guest rooms on the ground floor alone. They climbed the main staircase, and he stopped in front of the door to her apartment.

"I am going to have to ask you to return. I will see you in the morning." He lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it. She walked past the steel door, and heard it close behind her. She leaned back against it, for a moment, and then walked down the hallway to her bedroom. The whole day had been a lie; she walked into the bathroom, and slipped off the gown. Elaine had laid out a silk nightgown, and she slipped it on. She walked out into the room, but wasn't sleepy so she went to the library and found a book. She sat in one of the chairs, trying to read. There was something in the back of her mind, trying to get her attention. His name, she knew his name, Victor Creed. She felt a stab of fear. He was never going to let her go. She knew too much. She looked at the book in her lap.

He had put so much thought, so much expense into this, he wasn't ever going to let her go. A tear slipped down her cheek. She was trapped here, trapped with a man she suspected had killed those men on the road, a man that could kill her without a thought. Another stab of fear hit her. She heard a noise and looked up. He was standing there, his shirt partially unbuttoned, his jacket and tie gone, and his hair was loose, flowing and curly down his back, along his shoulders. He walked across the room, knelt on the floor in front of her chair, and reached up, and wiped the tear from her cheek.

"I will never hurt you, Annabelle. You are a piece of art, living art. Your beauty, it is greater than anything created by any of the great masters. Please don't be afraid. The world will never touch you here; you will never have to deal with that ugliness. I will protect you."

"But who will protect me from you." She whispered, another tear falling.

"I will." He said it fiercely, a deep growl in his voice. "What are you reading?"

"Troilus and Cressida."

He sat on the floor, leaning back on the chair she was sitting in.

"Would you read to me?"

"Call here my varlet; I'll unarm again: Why should I war without the walls of Troy,That find such cruel battle here within? Each Trojan that is master of his heart, Let him to field; Troilus, alas! hath none." She said, reading the opening lines of the play. He laid his head gently against her knee. She smiled and kept reading. Her fingers found his golden hair as she read, stroking it, twining it through her fingers.

"It should be now, but that my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss:  
Till then I'll sweat and seek about for eases And at that time bequeathe you my diseases." She closed the book, his head lifted off her knee, and he looked up at her.

"Thank you." He whispered, she traced her fingers along the side of his face. No matter what he was, what he had done, she couldn't stop herself. She ran her thumb gently along his lower lip, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him. He jumped up, as if shocked, and backed from the room. She heard his steps in the hallway, and the slam of the door at the end. She bowed her head, and then got up, put the book back on the shelf, and went to the bedroom. She slipped between the covers, laying her head on the pillow, and let the tears flow.


	5. Chapter 5

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 5

What had happened? One moment she was reading, he was enjoying the sound of her voice, the story she was reading, the peace of the moment, and then she had touched him. Her touch sent electric shocks through his body. He had run he didn't dare touch her; he didn't dare defile her with his vile needs. She was untouchable. He couldn't allow himself to think of her in any way other than as a living work of art. She wasn't a woman, she was art.

He started saying it like a mantra, as he paced his room, watching her on the camera. He watched her lay down, in bed and used the zoom on the camera. He watched as her tears fell, soaking the pillow, before sleep claimed her. She was crying, he couldn't understand why, she couldn't be upset about his leaving her. He was her captor; he controlled her, locked her in, and took away her freedom. She couldn't want to be with him, couldn't weep because he left her. She had to be crying because she was a prisoner. That was the only thing it could be, it was the only reason he could allow.

He slipped out of the silk shirt, and stood in front of the mirror. He watched himself, he was covered in a fine down of fur from neck to the waistband of his pants, his face and neck were clean shaven, but the fur blended into the long tawny mane that flowed across his shoulders and back. His eyes were dark, almost completely black; he smiled and then grimaced at the sharp fangs that were exposed. His body was sculpted muscle, under the fur, but he couldn't see any beauty in it, all he could see was the monster his father had always accused him of being, as he ripped the fangs out of his mouth and the claws out of his fingertips. He looked at his hands, the long curved claws retracting into the tips, and then extending back out. He was a monster; he had no right touching such beauty.

He slipped out of the pants, and looked at the rest of his body, the fur continuing down his torso, and down his legs. His eyes were drawn to his groin, the length of him resting against the fur; he didn't dare allow himself to think of her as desirable, as touchable. He didn't dare allow himself to allow the monster inside him to view her as a potential mate. He yanked open the second drawer in the chest.

He pulled out a pair of jeans, a grey shirt, and heavy socks. He was going hunting. He needed to deal with his lust, and blood would have to do. He pulled on the jeans, fastening them, he pulled the shirt over his head it was a loose tunic, nothing that would show any definition. He wanted to look like the monster he believed himself to be. He opened the closet and reached into the back. He pulled out the fur covered duster, the one he wore when he was with the Brotherhood. He would call Erik, see if there was anything he could do, any work they need a monster for. He had allowed himself to become too human. He had to remind himself he was an animal that true beauty was beyond his reach. He had come so close today, close to allowing himself a human touch, a human feeling.

She had surprised him with the cops. Standing at the top of those stairs, the sapphire gown hugging her curves, her hand graceful on the banister as she glided down to join him. She had laughed, had won them over, never even hinting at her true situation. He had rewarded her with the tour of the house, allowing her time outside her prison. That had not been wise, but he didn't dare what he had wanted to do, to gather her up in his arms and … he stopped that thought. He couldn't even allow himself to think it.

He shook his head as he pulled on the heavy work boots he wore while hunting. It had been her perfect opportunity to escape, to cause him every problem in his little project. Instead she had played the perfect wife, allowing those men to envy him his luck, to not even consider that he would leave such a perfect creature to commit something so heinous. Why did she do it?

He would hunt, he would bathe in the bloodlust, perhaps even slake his physical lust, he would prove he was the monster everyone thought he was, prove it to himself again. He needed to stop his desire. He needed to find a way to keep it away from her. He was too ugly, too vile to be with her, but, he couldn't stay away. He had to find a way to protect her from the monster inside him.

Arden and Elaine were just stirring when he slipped out of the house; he took the four by four, and headed into downtown Seattle. He parked near the needle, and walked down the streets. He slipped down an alley, and when he was sure he was unobserved he climbed the walls of one of the buildings and took to the roof line. He made his way, staying mostly above the city, to the docks. There was always good hunting along the docks, drunks, drug dealers, prostitutes, the lowest, vilest, ugliest portions of humanity. He sat on the roof of a warehouse, watching the foot traffic, out of sight of all but the most observant.

He smelled her before he saw her, and allowed her to sneak up behind him.

"Hello, Raven."

"Victor." She slid alongside him, her lithe form not even a distraction.

"I thought you were taking some time off, a personal project you said?" She gave him a toothy smile, her teeth gleaming against her blue skin.

"I am. I don't want to talk about it." He looked over at her. He had stopped pretending to be just a big dumb animal around her years ago. "I am hunting to keep the lust under control, something I can't allow to consume me at the moment."

"I am impressed. I have never known you to try to control it before. This project of yours, is she pretty?"

He glared at the red headed mutant. "A work of art."

"No human is a work of art. Is she a mutant?"

"I don't know. I don't care." He glared at his former lover. He was tempted, just for a moment to have her take her form, her face, and allow him to slake this overpowering desire, but he knew that wouldn't help. He could be as rough as he wanted with Raven, but he could never allow himself to be that way with Annabelle.

"So, you are stalking the docks, looking for blood to spill, a whore to fuck, instead of hurting your precious work of art. You are so predictable, Victor." Raven glared at him. He could smell her anger, and arousal. She had been hoping to tempt him. Eric must not be satisfying her anymore. He didn't understand how the old man could in the first place.

"I am not in the mood for your games, Raven. If you want a fuck just say so, don't play mind games." She snarled at him. He looked back toward the docks, watching a drug deal trying to decide if he wanted to kill them.

"You bastard." She started to stand up, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"Well."

"I am not going to satisfy your lust so you can go home to your 'work of art' clean and satisfied. If you want a fuck, for fuck's sake, look me up." He didn't let go of her arm. He knew what she wanted, and would give it to her, if she agreed to what he wanted. He wanted her to take a specific form, to fight him, to resist. It wasn't as good as a whore, or an old fashioned rape hit on a mark, but it would work, for now.

"Fuck you, Sabertooth. I don't need your crap. Just once I would like to be the woman you want, not a stopgap." He released her arm. She was too angry to do what he wanted today; another time, perhaps.

"What are you doing here, Raven?"

"Why do you care, you are on vacation, remember." She snapped at him.

"I thought I might help, if there was going to be blood involved." She snarled.

"It isn't work for you. It calls for subtlety."

"Well good luck, then." He replied, with a snarl.

"Good hunting to you, Sabertooth." She hissed, as she slipped away, her yellow eyes flashing in anger.

He moved from the rooftop, walking among the dock workers, looking for the weak ones, the culls, the ones who needed removed. This is what he was, a predator, and his purpose to cull the herd of humanity. He was in his element, here with the darker side of humanity, watching for weakness, for opportunities to slake his lusts. A couple prostitutes approached him, and he considered it, for a moment. They wouldn't be missed, and he could satisfy himself and return home for a pleasant dinner, conversation, and hopefully sleep. He hadn't slept in days. He just snarled at the women and walked off.

He would go home, soak in the hot tub, rest, perhaps sleep this afternoon, and be fresh for dinner. That might hold the call of blood at bay better than another bath in it. He returned to the downtown area where he had parked the car. One of the officers from earlier was leaning on the four by four.

"Detective." He said, as he pulled the keys out of his pocket.

"We have a witness who placed you at the bar last night. You bought two beers, and left, correct."

"Yes. That is what I told you this morning." He reached to open the door, but the man didn't move. He glared at him. The last thing he wanted was a problem with the local police. He like living her, he liked his home. He didn't want to have to move.

"She said you left about an hour before the men were killed."

"Yes. I told you I drove; my wife and I had a fight." He fought himself to keep his claws sheathed.

"It's funny, we can't find any record of your marriage, and your 'wife' matches a missing persons report out of Chicago."

"We were married in Canada; I have the license at the house. We haven't filed it in the U.S. yet. I don't know anything about a missing persons report." Shit, who had reported her missing? It had been four days, perhaps her work, a neighbor. He would have to check on it.

"Well, if we need you for anything, we will be in touch." The detective pushed away from the truck. He opened the door, and slid behind the wheel.

"I'll be at the house if you need anything." He said as he started to close the door.

"Nice coat." He looked at the officer. What did he mean by that?

"Thanks, it's one of my favorites."

"Give your wife my best."

He pulled the door shut and started the engine. The cop moved back and he pulled out into traffic. He needed to get home. He drove straight there, he noticed the tail, but didn't care. He wanted to get home, to make sure she was alright.

Arden was at the kitchen door as he pulled in.

"The police came by again looking for you, sir. I told them you had business in the city." Arden stood, waiting for instructions.

"There is nothing for you to do, Arden. I will be in the bath, and then I am going to get some sleep."

"Yes sir."

"Do you have that paperwork I asked you to set up?"

"Yes sir, valid and legal, the photos are ready and Elaine is having them framed."

"Thank you, you have both been invaluable in this project." He rarely complimented the staff, but they had earned it.

"Thank you, sir."

"Also, please check on a missing persons report out of Chicago and make it disappear."

"How, sir?"

"File the paperwork, find out who filed the report, and I will convince her to call them, to explain about the wedding, and have the report disappear. If that doesn't work, I will take care of it myself." Arden blanched and then nodded.

He walked up the stairs, stopping at the door. He stood there, resisting the urge to open it, walk in there and see her in person. He had to distance himself. She was art, she was beauty, and she wasn't for the likes of him.

The cameras were on the screen. She was in the music room, just sitting. He reached over and turned on the sound. He gave the screen and incredulous look. She was listening to Bat out of Hell. He just shook his head and allowed the music to fill the room as he stripped and ran the tub full of hot water. He slipped into the tub, and relaxed. Arden would take care of the alibi, the paperwork, and the report from Chicago. The album repeated itself twice before the water cooled enough for him to climb out of tub, he walked slowly into the bedroom and stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes.

His dreams were twisted, he couldn't remember them when he opened his eyes, but he knew they had been rough, the comforter of the bed was twisted around his limbs, and his claws were out and through the fabric. He had at least slept, and he could feel the lust retreat, become manageable. A nice dinner, some quiet conversation with a beautiful woman sounded like a lovely way to spend the evening. He winced at having to convince her to lie, to make Chicago go away, but if he could, it would eliminate several problems, and show that she was willing to work with him. He opened the closet and pulled out his black Brooks Brothers suit and a light blue silk shirt with a dark blue silk tie. It reminded him of her gown yesterday. He smiled at the memory of her at the top of the stairs. She was his, she would accept it, and she was close, very close, to accepting it already. He dressed with a smile on his face, dinner would be pleasant. Perhaps he could convince her to enjoy some music with him this evening.


	6. Chapter 6

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 6

She dressed quietly. He hadn't been to see her all day. Was he angry, was he punishing her for something, for touching him? Elaine told her he planned on joining her for dinner; she laid out a black dress with deep royal blue embroidery. Annabelle looked at it, wanting to rip it to pieces. She was angry, she wasn't entirely certain why, but she was angry. Instead she slipped into the bra and panties, stockings and garter belt, and slipped the gown over her head, Elaine helping her zip the back of the dress.

"He has requested I dress your hair for dinner." Elaine said, indicating the chair in front of the dressing table. She sat down, allowing the woman to pull and pin her hair. She didn't even look in the mirror, just stood up, slipped into the shoes that matched the dress, and walked to the door.

"Any other instructions for tonight?" she asked.

"No. Just join him for dinner." Elaine said, concern written on her face. She didn't care, she would eat dinner with him, smile, converse, but she wouldn't make the same mistake. He didn't want her to touch him; she would make sure she never did again.

She walked down the hallway, not even paying attention to anything around her. She walked into the dining room, and took her seat. Arden was there, waiting, and unfolded her napkin, placing it in her lap.

She took a deep breath, and waited for the sound of the door opening. The loud clang of the lock releasing caused her to straighten her shoulders, and fold her hands quietly in her lap. His steps down the hall hesitated, and then moved with strong determination. She didn't even look up as he stormed into the room.

"Get OUT." He roared at Arden. The butler left the room quickly, closing the door behind him.

"I don't know why you are angry, but if you want to have it out, let's go."

"I don't know what you are talking about." She said, looking at her plate. He stood there, by the door.

"Don't lie to me. I can SMELL it." He roared at her. She finally looked at him. His hair was loose, along the black shoulders of his suit. His black eyes were flashing, angry. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and she was given her first good look at his fangs. His hands were clenched into fists, and she could see blood dripping onto the floor from one.

"You are hurt." She said, starting to stand.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE." She sank back into the chair. He unclenched is fist, and she watched as his claws pulled out of the holes in his palm, and the holes slowly close. "Is that what you wanted to see? What kind of monster holds you here?"

She sat there quietly, stunned. He was some kind of mutant that explained a few things. He healed quickly.

"Well, do you have anything to say?" He snarled at her.

"What's for dinner?" She looked him in the eye. He stepped back, right into the wall, shock clear on his face. She didn't know what he expected, but acceptance wasn't it.

"Why, why are you angry?"

"Why are you? All I did was touch you." She whispered the last. She watched as one hand rested on the sideboard, almost as if he needed it for support.

"You are angry because I left, last night?" He shook his head, as if he couldn't fathom it.

"No, yes…I don't know. I don't know what happened last night, but it was nice, I didn't want it to end. When you ran out of there, I just don't understand why you ran." She was fighting tears. This man had kidnapped her, imprisoned her, lied and told people she was his wife, and she wasn't afraid. She had spent two days in his home, as his prisoner, his guest he called her, and she couldn't imagine being any place else. It was as if her life before was a dream, and this was reality, and she had finally opened her eyes.

She looked down at her hands, fighting the tears. She didn't know what would happen if she let them go, how he would react, he was so angry, she just wanted to run, to find someplace alone and cry. She didn't understand it, but somehow she had hurt him, and she didn't want to. She didn't even hear him move, but suddenly he was kneeling next to her, turning her chair so she faced him. He didn't say a word, just pulled her into his arms, guiding her head onto his shoulder; she felt his cheek against the back of her head, and a soft rumble in his chest. She couldn't stop them, the tears began to flow, and he just held her.

When her tears finally dried up, he allowed her to lift her head. She looked at him, shocked at the moisture on his face. She didn't understand, but somehow she felt it was important. She started to reach up, to wipe the moisture from his cheek, when he grabbed her hand.

"No. Please, your touch is a pleasure I do not deserve." He eased her back into her chair and turned her back to the table, walked to the opposite end and sat down, unfolding his napkin and placing it in his lap. Arden opened the door, and the salad course was served. They ate in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. She smiled at him a few times, and she could tell there was something else bothering him.

"How was your day?" She finally asked.

"Interesting." He replied. "I had business in the city, and ran into our friend from yesterday. They had a few more questions for me."

"I see, have they found out anything about what happened?"

"No, and I don't think it is something we should discuss at dinner."

"Ok."

"How was your day?" He asked as the second course was placed in front of them, grilled sea scallops.

"Quiet. I read, looked over things in the music room, found some albums I haven't listened to in years and relaxed. I was going to use the treadmill, but I didn't have any exercise clothes."

"I will have Elaine see to that in the morning." Arden came into the room and handed him a file. He set it next to his plate, and continued eating.

"I was wondering if there is anything you choose for me to do tomorrow. I am not used to having nothing to do, some type of work to do." She said quietly.

"You…" he paused, almost as if he didn't know what to say to that. "You may do what you wish. Do you play an instrument, if not, there are several books with instructions in the music room, you could teach yourself, there are paints and art supplies in the parlor, if there is anything…anything you want to do, let Arden or Elaine know, and they will make sure you have whatever supplies you need. I don't want you to have to think of work, or drudgery, or anything other than being happy." His voice caught on the last.

"I will have to think about that." She said. The soup was placed before them, and he looked over the file as she ate. He brushed away the bowl, reading, as she watched him. "May I ask what that is?"

"Information from Chicago, there was a missing persons report filed by a Mrs. Peabody. Do you know who that is?" His voice was calm, only a hint of a snarl.

"Oh my, Mrs. P. she lived three doors down, such a busybody." She laughed.

"If you contacted her, and the police, and let them know you are safe, do you think she would believe you?"

"Probably, is there anything in particular you want me to tell her, or should I just say I am visiting a friend."

"I have the paperwork filed, a Canadian marriage license, tell her we eloped, I don't care what you tell her about how we met, or anything, but convince her you are a happy newlywed." He didn't even look up from the file. A marriage license, he had a marriage license. She wasn't sure if she should be angry or flattered. He looked up at her, a slight smile on his face.

"The police mentioned the report. They checked for a record of a marriage, I had to make sure they found what they were looking for. I know it is short notice." She had to laugh at that. He was just covering his tracks; it had nothing to do with her. He laughed with her, but it didn't reach his eyes. They were weighing her, trying to decide if she would back him, if she was afraid enough to obey him. He didn't realize that fear wasn't something she had felt for at least a day; she would support him because she wanted to. She didn't know when she had gone from fear, to curiosity about him being her primary motivation, but she would do anything he asked, as long as she learned something new about him from it.

"I will have a phone brought in. I want you to call the detective in Chicago who is working the missing persons report, let him know you are safe, that we were married four days ago in Winnipeg, that is where the license is filed. Your new last name is Creed. Call Mrs. Peabody and let her know you are safe, make sure she is no longer suspicious."

Arden brought in the main course, and he instructed him to bring a phone. They ate the main course, and Arden brought a phone into the dining room, setting it on the table. Victor stood up and dialed the phone.

"Detective Morris, please." He said into the phone. He stood there, quietly for a few moments. "This is Victor Creed. I understand someone filed a missing persons report on my wife four days ago."

"Yes, she is right here." He handed her the phone.

"Detective, this is Annabelle Creed."

"Annabelle Jenkins?" The man on the other end of the phone asked.

"That is my maiden name, yes."

"You are married?"

"Yes, we were married in Winnipeg four days ago."

"How did you and your 'husband' meet?"

"At the Chicago Museum of Art, about three weeks ago." Victor looked at her in surprise.

"And you just ran off and got married to a man you have only known three weeks?" The detective sounded incredulous.

"Yes." She laughed.

"Where are you, now?" He asked.

Victor mouthed 'Seattle'

"Seattle."

"We will be contacting the Seattle police department to do a well being check, if everything checks out, we will cancel the report." The man sounded bored.

"Thank you. I understand Mrs. Peabody down the hall filed the report, is it alright if I call her and let her know I am ok."

"Certainly." The phone hung up, without any courtesy.

She dialed Mrs. P's number. The woman had been the closest thing to a friend she had in Chicago.

"Mrs. P. It's Annabelle." She said when the woman answered the phone.

"My dear, where are you? Your phone was ringing and you didn't answer, so I knew there was a problem. It was your office; they were trying to reach you to come in on Saturday."

"I should have called them, I met someone a few weeks ago at the museum, and well he asked me to marry him, and I said yes, and it was sudden, we ran across the border to Winnipeg, where he is from and got married."

"Good Lord, young lady, do you know how dangerous that is?" Mrs. P. was getting wound up.

"I know, but Victor isn't like that. We are at his home in Seattle right now."

"Seattle, Washington."

"Yes."

"Well, does he at least have the means to take care of you?" Oh lord, she was going to be difficult.

"Yes, Mrs. P. he does. We have a beautiful home."

"Well, young lady, if you have any problems, you can always come back and stay with me, if this doesn't work out."

They chatted a few more minutes and she hung up.

Arden took the phone out of the room, and she looked straight at Victor.

"Thank you." He said, as he sat back down. She sat down, but she wasn't hungry anymore.

"Your welcome." She said softly.

He looked up at her, "Would you like to go to the music room?"

She just shrugged, he stood up and walked to her chair, pulling it out for her, and offering her his arm, escorted her down the hall. She sat down in one of the chairs, and he sat on the piano bench.

He surprised her. His fingers flowed easily across the keyboard, playing a variation of classical and modern music, flowing from one piece to another. She just sat there, closed her eyes and listened to him play. Suddenly the music stopped, right in the middle of the piece. She opened her eyes and looked across the room at him. He was looking at her intensely.

He stood up, knocking over the bench. She watched a look of almost rage cross his face, as he started to storm from the room. What had she done now? 

"Victor, wait, please. What did I do?" There were tears in the corners of her eyes. He stopped at the door, one hand, claws out, gripping the jam.

"It isn't you, Annabelle. You are perfect." He stepped from the room, and she stood and rushed out after him. He was standing at the steel door, punching a code into a keypad, and placing his thumb on a scanner. The door opened with a click. She reached out and put a hand on his arm.

"Victor, please. I don't understand." The tears slipped from her eyes. He had been playing so beautifully, pouring his emotions into the music, and to go from something so beautiful to so much rage, she wondered what she had done to anger him.

He turned, and looked at her. He reached up slowly, and wiped a tear from her cheek with one clawed thumb. He had a look on his face that was full of pain and anger. Suddenly he reached out, pulling her hard against his chest, his lips crushing down on hers, his tongue invading her mouth, tasting her, devouring her, his sharp teeth scraping against her lip, the pain only causing her to want more. His mouth tasted divine. She didn't want the kiss to ever end, she could feel the silk of his hair in her hands, the slight stubble of his cheeks brushing against hers as he moved his lips down her jaw to her neck, nuzzling along, his hands, one on her back, the other in her hair, crushing her against his firm body.

Suddenly she was pushed back against the wall.

"This can't happen." He snarled. There was a look of horror, of pure anguish on his face. He pushed the door open, and walked out; he turned back and looked at her.

"Why not?" She whispered.

"You are perfect, and I am a monster. You should only be surrounded by beauty, and I am anything but. I won't defile you; you are not for a creature like me." He slammed the door shut, locking her in. She slid down the wall, head coming to a rest on her knees, tears soaking into the skirt of her gown. She fell asleep sitting there in the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 6

Victor looked at the door. What the hell had he done? Why had he done that? He KNEW better. Damn it, why wasn't she afraid anymore. He could deal with the fear better than the anger, better than the sadness. He smelled tears from beyond the door. It would be so easy to go back in there, to pick her up, carry her to that bed…no. She wasn't for him. She was art; she was a possession, something to be owned, to be admired, to be treasured.

He turned, and stalked to his room. He turned to the screen on his computer but she was no where to be seen.

"Arden!"

The butler came to the door.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know sir. I will have Elaine check. Victor watched movement outside the parlor door, and a few minutes later, Elaine guided a half asleep Annabelle into the bedroom. She didn't even undress, just dropped onto the bed.

He leaned back in the chair, He watched as Elaine went through the apartment, setting up the piano bench, replacing a book in the library. He needed to have her order some exercise clothing for Annabelle. He was trying to forget what had happened but his body wasn't letting him.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her, reclined in the chair, eyes closed, lips parted, fingers tapping to the music, a slight smile tugging at her lips as she listened to him play. God he wanted her. He had tried to leave, before things got out of hand, he had tried. Why had she stopped him? Why had he let her? He knew what would happen, knew he wouldn't be able to fight the instincts. He had known he needed to get out of there, to protect her, but he just couldn't resist one taste of heaven.

And it had been heaven. Her mouth was sweet, her body firm and willing in his arms, her skin tasted of salt and he could smell the blood rushing just under the surface. He had smelled her arousal, could still smell it in the back of his throat. It clung, not leaving him; it clung to his hands, his hair, and his clothes. He didn't know if he wanted to rip them off, or stay in them forever.

Two days, he had managed to keep his claws off of her for two days. That wouldn't do. He was going to have to make a decision, one that he didn't want to make. Was he ever going to let her go, let her live her own life? Was he going to keep her here, locked in those rooms, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist, wouldn't be able to keep his own ugliness away from her? Was he going to kill her, preserve her beauty, the art that was her? His chest constricted at that choice, but he had to think this through. Was he going to just give in, take what he wanted from her, destroying her in the process? He couldn't conceive of any other choice. There was a small voice, in the back of his mind, the one that he rarely listened to, the frightened boy in the cellar. That voice offered another choice, was he going to love her?" He pushed that choice far away. It wasn't an option; it wasn't a choice for him. Love wasn't something he was capable of. He was a monster, a killer, he wasn't built for love. Even if he did love her, even if he was able to allow himself to feel such an emotion, she would NEVER be able to love him. He was a monster, he held her prisoner, and she was HIS. His possession, his obsession, he realized it, he knew he was loosing it, and quickly. He had to gain control over himself. He had to; for his own sake.

His body was still throbbing, aching from that kiss, from her response. He knew he needed to deal with it, but somehow, he just couldn't think of anything but her. Arden came back into his room.

"Will there be anything else this evening, sir?"

"Yes. We forgot to make sure there were exercise clothes in her wardrobe. Please correct that error." He heard Arden start behind him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, sir, Elaine is concerned about the miss, sir. She was listless, quiet today. She did not seem well, to her. She assumed it was the reality of the situation catching up to her, however, this evening, she found her sleeping in the hallway, near the door."

"She will be fine." He could hear the snarl in his own voice. She had to be fine.

"I will be soaking in the tub, and will want breakfast in the morning. I will not see Annabelle until dinner, and make it informal. I need to spend less time with her." He stood up, practically ripping the jacket off his body. He threw it in a pile on the floor, his shirt and tie following as he made his way to the bathroom.

"Yes sir." He heard Arden behind him.

"The police may come by tomorrow, if they do, allow her downstairs to talk to them, and inform me when they arrive." He snarled from the bathroom. That was another thing bothering him; he hated having to deal with the police, hated not being able to just end the problem the easiest way possible, with his claws and teeth. If this house hadn't been exactly what he wanted, if he didn't want to be safe and secure here, his one place to get away, to relax, to have the treasures of his lifetime around him, he wouldn't even bother. He had lived here for decades. He was a pillar of the Seattle community. He supported the arts, community projects, even worked with a community coalition to help curb teen violence. The last thing he needed was his real face to become public here. He hid himself well, in plain sight. He even owned three companies in Seattle. What he had told her about making money in the .com boom was partially correct. He still owned major stock in all three companies he had invested in, and all were still doing quite well.

He had problems, he was a mutant, of course he had problems, but he made sure his professional life didn't intersect his private one, at all. The loggers were a bad idea, he was going to have to find a way to clean it up, and he was going to have to go out of the city to hunt as well. He had too much to loose to allow his bloodlust to control him now.

He leaned back in the tub, soaking, allowing the warm water to relax him, and finding anything but her to think about. He remembered running into Raven this afternoon, and again wondered what she was up to, why she was in the Seattle area. He pulled himself out of the tub, wrapped up in a towel and went to the computer. He checked his email, and sent one off to Erik, asking what was going on, asking if there was anything he could do to assist. Work might be just the thing. It had only been a few days, but he didn't think he could stay here, with her, without doing something he would regret the rest of his life.

The rest of the email was cleared out quickly, and Eric had responded by the time he finished the last one.

"Victor" it read. "There is nothing I need your assistance with at this time. If anything comes up, I will contact you. I suppose you have decided that you don't need the month sabbatical after all. Let me know when you are available for planning meetings. There are some new issues I will be looking into, and may need your services to deal with them. Welcome back to the fold, My Brother. Erik."

He growled; nothing for him at this time. He needed work, he needed a distraction. He picked up the phone and checked the business voice mail. Nothing there either. He closed out the email, the camera images coming back into view. She was still sleeping, still dressed in her gown from dinner. He looked down at his hands, claws out, and growled. He stood up, dropping the towel. He opened a drawer in his chest and pulled out a pair of sweat pants and a T shirt. He shouldn't do this. He should NOT do this.

He kept telling himself that, all the way down the hall, to the door, as he keyed the lock open, and he walked down her hallway and to the door of her bedroom. He shouldn't be doing this. He was asking for trouble, asking for her to hate him, asking for more torture and torment, but he couldn't stand seeing her like this. He walked to the bed, lifting her up into his arms; he sat down on the bed, leaning her against his chest, as he began to pull the hair pins from her hair. He ran his fingers through her hair, combing it, letting it flow between his fingers, its silken caress causing his body to respond. He shook his head. That wasn't why he was here. He carefully unzipped the gown, and then laid her back on the bed.

He smiled, she hadn't even stirred. She was even snoring a little, she was a sound sleeper, and a part of his mind thought about ways he could wake her up. He shook his head. He just wanted to make sure she was comfortable. That was all. He walked to the dresser and opened drawers until he found her nightgowns. He pulled one out, and walked back to the bed. He stopped suddenly. She had rolled to one side, her back to him, and he could see the flesh of her back through the open zipper of the dress. He closed his eyes and steeled himself. Just make her comfortable. That is all he was going to do. The small part of his mind chimed in, he should have had Elaine do this. He slapped that part of him back down.

He walked slowly to the bed, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed. Just get her out of the shoes, out of the dress, into the nightgown. It wasn't that hard. He slipped her shoes off of her feet, and onto the floor. He tried to slip the gown off of her arms, but she rolled onto her stomach. He was going to have to pick her up again. He didn't want to wake her, he didn't want her to know it was him doing this, and then suddenly it was too late. She rolled over, and looked him in the eye.

"Victor, what are you doing here?" She looked at him sitting on the side of the bed, his hair damp from his bath, her nightgown in one hand. He looked sheepishly at his hand, and held it out to her.

"I came to check on you, and you didn't look very comfortable, so I thought I would…" He didn't know what to say. He had NEVER been in this situation before. She smiled at him, and sat up. That didn't help, the gown was loose where he unzipped it and it slipped off one shoulder, exposing the strap and lace of her bra underneath. SHIT. This was not going according to plan.

"Now that you are awake, I will just leave, let you get comfortable…" He laid the gown on the bed, and stood, backing away.

"Please don't leave." She whispered. He needed to leave, he needed to get out of there, and didn't she realize she wasn't safe; she was getting closer and closer to becoming a victim, prey. His heart was racing, his breathing shallow, he could feel his body's response to that whisper, tightening, and ready to pounce.

"I have to." He backed up further.

"Please, tell me what is wrong, what have I done?" There were tears in her eyes, again. He had made her cry, again. He was holding her prisoner, had taken her life, everything familiar away from her, and she cried because she thought she had done something wrong. It was more than he could take. He stopped backing away, and just looked at her.

"If you will go in the bathroom and change, I will stay here. Please, I am begging, please give me some space." The words came out with a whimper, a sound he never made, hadn't made since he killed his father the day he came out of that cellar. She was making him weak. He should growl, should roar, should make her fear him, but all he wanted was to gather her in his arms, hold her.

She picked up the gown and walked into the bathroom, holding her dress up with the other hand. He turned and pulled out the chair to the dressing table. He sat on it, running his clawed hands through his hair. He should be hunting, drowning in blood to stop this, instead of sitting here, listening to the rustle of silk as it hit the floor, the hooks on the back of her bra snapping open, the clasps on the stockings unfastening and the silk sliding down her legs. He pressed his hands over his ears, trying to muffle the sounds from the bathroom. He cursed his mutation, cursed his senses. He would love to just not hear each sound, smell each scent. She was driving him insane, driving him slowly to a point of madness, a point that once he crossed, no one was safe.

He heard her clear her throat. He looked up; she was standing in the bathroom door, the simple sheath nightgown clinging to her breasts and hips. That wasn't much better.

He couldn't help it; another one of those weak sounds came from his throat, a whimper. He felt like he was going to explode. She walked to the bed and sat on the edge. Not good, not good at all, he was going to have to get out of there.

"Victor, please, what is going on? You brought me here, you are keeping me here, I don't know what I need to do to please you. You run every time I think things are going well, every time things are peaceful, relaxed. I just want to know what I need to do."

Damn it she wasn't afraid. He could smell it. She wasn't angry either, but she wasn't afraid. Why wasn't she afraid? He didn't realize the words had slipped out of his mouth.

"Is that it, you want me to be afraid of you?"

"No." The word came out of his mouth strangled. He didn't WANT her afraid. He needed her afraid. If she was afraid, then he could resist, he could fight fear, he could fight his reaction to that. He couldn't fight his reaction to this.

"Then what…what do you want?"

"You." The word slipped out before he could stop it. The truth slipped out before he could create a lie for himself. He wanted her, he needed her, but he didn't dare touch her.

"Then WHAT'S the problem?" She sounded exasperated, she was shouting at him.

"I can't." He said.

"I know better. I felt just how you COULD at the door." She stood up, hands on her hips.

"NO, it isn't…I can't touch you, I would hurt you. I promised you no one would hurt you here, and I meant it."

"What?"

How could he explain to her, how could he make her understand, without… without making her fear him again. He wanted her, no he needed her, his body was responding to her as he sat there, trying to fight it, trying to control the animal within him.

"With you I can be human. I can enjoy books, and art, and music, fine food, beautiful company. But I can't do it for long, the animal begins to rise again, to demand it's due. I know, as a man that wanting you is a part of this, but I don't dare let the animal near you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I keep telling you, I AM A MONSTER." He shouted at her.

"Why, because you are a man, because you find me attractive, because you can't control your body's reaction to me, that isn't monstrous."

"NO." His claws were out, his fangs flashing, his eyes totally black. He struggled to control it, to control the bloodlust flowing in his veins. She wasn't prey, she wasn't food.

She sat down hard on the bed. "So because you have fangs and claws you think you are a monster?"

"No, because I live to feel hot blood in my mouth, to feel my prey's flesh rend under my claws. To hunt, to kill, with my bare hands, that is what makes me a monster."

"Those men, the ones who were killed…" She was asking the question, the one he had dreaded since returning to the house. He could lie, but somehow, he knew he wouldn't. She had earned the truth, like it or not. The truth was ugly, damn it, just like him.

"Yes." He said the word softly, his claws retracting back into his finger tips. He waited. Waited for the fear, waited for the anger, waited for anything, he didn't expect her to stand up, to cross the room, to reach for his face. His hand snapped up, grabbing her arm.

"No, I don't deserve your touch." Why did he feel like he was covered in blood? Why did he suddenly feel every kill, every drop of blood he had spilled weighing on his shoulders.

"Yes you do. You can't help what you are, just like I can't help what I am." He looked up into her angelic face, just as she leaned down and placed a kiss on his lips. It was gentle, undemanding, and it left him wanting more.

"What have you done to me?" He snarled, twisting the arm he still held behind her back, pulling her against him, his body taking over, demanding what it wanted.

"Please, Victor, don't walk away again." She whispered against the top of his head, as he rested his head between her breasts. He let go of the hand, and she wrapped both of her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. He just breathed. Her scent was strong, spicy, like the ocean, like a Venus. He looked up at her, her face looking down at him, smiling.

He suddenly felt calm. He didn't understand it, he didn't want to understand it, but the animal was at bay. He was just a man, with a beautiful woman in his arms, a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted her. He stood up, lifting her in his arms and carried her to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and slipped her under them.

"Not tonight." He whispered, as he kissed her lips again. She gave a little whimper of disappointment. "You need sleep, Annabelle, and I need to think."

"Victor, no offense, but I think you THINK too much." He laughed at that. If she only really knew, he stood up, running a finger across her cheek. His plans were changing, he was going to have to make arrangements, make plans. He closed the door. That was when he realized there had been no light in the room, at all. His night vision was good enough that he didn't need any, but how had she seen him?

He walked out the steel door, pushing it closed behind him. He walked to his room, and stretched out on the bed. He was going to need help, was going to have to go to the one person who could help him, and that was going to hurt. First he had to take care of a few things in the morning. He closed his eyes. First thing in the morning, he needed to make some calls. He still had the police to deal with, but suddenly, he wasn't concerned about it. He allowed himself to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, his world was changing.


	8. Chapter 8

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. I thought getting him addicted to Everquest would get him the heck out of my head, I thought wrong. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 8

She woke up slowly. What the hell had happened last night? He had just left, tucked her into bed like a child and left. She didn't know what was going on. She thought she had him figured out. He had been abused as a child; he didn't know how to have a relationship, so his solution was to kidnap someone, to make them be his companion. He had Arden and Elaine but they were paid staff, not someone of his own.

All of that made sense, she had expected him to make a move the first time, in the parlor, when he hadn't, and she had been expecting it every time she saw him. He was leaving her unbalanced. Sex she could handle, as long as she had some say in it. Every time she tried to let him know she would be willing, would accept him, he backed away, ran. It wasn't a physical problem; she had felt just how aroused he was at the door last night. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to her. He wasn't gay.

She thought about what he had said last night, about being a monster. Maybe that really was it. Maybe it was that his mutation made him feel like a monster, he couldn't think that she would be interested in him. It wasn't that she was, per say, ok he was gorgeous. She could easily be interested in him, if he hadn't kidnapped her. He was the type of man she had dreamed about her entire life. Someone to come and take her away from her squalid life, to make her feel like a princess, to put her needs above his own. Why did he have to be a murdering kidnapper?

She lay there, waiting on Elaine to come in, to tell her what to wear for the day. What he had decided her day would be like. That was getting old. She had a mind of her own; she liked to choose for herself, she didn't like to be told what to do. She shook her head. She hadn't been in shock like this since she was fifteen. No, she wasn't going to think about that. She didn't want to go through that again.

She closed her eyes, trying to avoid the flash of memory in her mind. The sound of lockers slamming, of boys laughing, wet slapping sounds as they held her down, pounding into her, daring her to tell anyone what had happened. There had been five of them, she hadn't known they were in there; one of the girls in her gym class had dared her to find out if the boys locker room looked anything like the girls. She had waited until she thought everyone was gone. She didn't know about senior varsity basketball practice. She had slipped into the door, and heard the lockers slamming. She turned to run but one of them was there, blocking the door. The rest was just sounds and flashes of feeling and pain and humiliation.

She sat up in bed, breathing hard, and sweat breaking out on her forehead. No, she got up, and walked to the bathroom. She wasn't ever going to go through something like that again. She had a choice. She would choose to allow him to seduce her, it was better than the alternative. She ran a shower, and stood under the water, letting it run down over her body. She hadn't even taken off the gown; she just had to get clean again. She had been in shock for a week after that. Her grandparents hadn't even known anything was wrong until the nightmares started. She still wouldn't tell anyone what happened. Finally, one of the other girls was assaulted too, and it all came out in a sordid mess. She had finished school at home, her grandmother had insisted. She had taken the state exam at sixteen, enrolled in a local community college, and then gone to the state college. She had avoided men, avoided anything to do with relationships, with sex for eight years.

She knew reality was starting to set in. She was starting to panic, starting to remember things best left forgotten.

"Miss, are you alright?" Elaine was standing outside the shower.

"I am just fine." She replied through tight lips. She didn't trust these people, any of them. She would do what she had to, until she could find a way out. Her head was finally clearing. The dreamlike state she had been in for the last few days was clearing.

"There is exercise clothing on your bed, do you wish to wear a dress or suit for the rest of the day. The master said the police may be coming by to speak with you today." Shit. She had promised to support him in her kidnapping. Well to be honest, even with being locked in and stuck doing nothing all day, it beat the grey existence she had lived before. She shook her head. That lassitude had gotten her where she was. She had to just stop accepting whatever came along. She squared her shoulders and slipped out of the shower stall.

"Please bring my exercise clothing in here for me to change into, and I will wear a suit, preferably pants. Navy or black with a bright blouse." She snapped the last at the woman. Elaine's eyes widened in shock, but she jumped to comply. It was time Annabelle started exerting herself. She slipped the wet silk nightgown down her hips and dried off. She pulled the tight lycra exercise shorts and sports bra on and headed for the treadmill. She slipped on the headphones and found a good Stones album and started with a brisk walk.

Soon she was jogging, and thinking. Ok the guy wasn't bad to look at, and there was a lot of him to look at, and every inch was, well a work of art. She smiled at using his own phrase to describe himself. He looked like one of those Greek or Roman statues, an Adonis, or Hercules. His sculpted facial features hid those ferocious fangs, and his long fingers and well defined hands could sprout sharp claws, but that just added to his beauty. She had to get her mind off these thoughts. He had fucking kidnapped her, just because he was the absolutely most gorgeous man she had ever seen, and shared most of her own interests, did NOT mean she was going to fall for him. Use him to get the hell out of here, yes, fall in love with him no fucking way.

Elaine came in, and she slipped the phones down. "The police are here, and they requested to see you at once. I am afraid you won't have time to clean up or change."

"Tell them I will be down in five minutes. I need to cool down from this run." She started to slow the treadmill for a quick cool down. Elaine gave her that strange look again, and left the room. She slowed to a stop and grabbed a towel to dry the sweat from her forehead and face. The door at the end of the hallway was open, and one of the officers was standing there.

"Mrs…Creed, isn't it." He asked?

"Yes." She wiped one end of the towel across her cheek.

"Do you mind explaining this door?"

"My husband keeps valuable pieces of art in this wing of the house that door helps maintain the proper atmosphere so they are not damaged." She thought that sounded plausible.

"And you are in this wing, why?"

"My exercise equipment is in this wing."

"ahh." He gave her an appraising look; she knew he was noticing the sweat dampened hair, damp clothing and towel.

"Did you have a good run?"

"Until I was interrupted."

"Sorry, we got a call from Chicago asking us to check on an Annabelle Jenkins, married name Creed."

"That would be me. I called the detective last night. Victor and I had a huge laugh at dinner about poor Mrs. P. and her calling me in missing. I should have told her we were leaving, but well to be honest it wasn't exactly the first thing on my mind."

"Right, well I can tell you are just fine…err umm, well." He had the grace to blush. She smiled at him. She hated men looking at her like that, like she was some sort of favorite dish that they wanted to devour. She would give Victor credit for that, he always looked at her like she was something to be admired, appreciated, treasured, and not groped in a back alley. It still gave her a small surge, a small feeling of control, of power that she could affect the detective.

"If you don't mind, I need to shower and change. She started for the door, as if to pass him. Victor suddenly appeared behind him. "Detective." His voice was low, calm, without any snarl or growl.

"Ahh, Mr. Creed. We have a few more questions for you as well. Good Morning, Mrs. Creed." Victor guided the man back down the stairs, sending her a look that made her shiver. She walked back and into her bedroom. She hoped she had pleased him, in what she had said to the detective. She didn't want to make him angry.

She walked across to the bed and saw a beautiful navy blue pinstripe pant suit with a bright red chemise blouse to wear underneath. She smiled. Elaine certainly followed instructions well. She walked into the bathroom, to get a shower and found a hot bath waiting, jets already on. Elaine was pouring lightly scented bath oil into the tub.

"Thank you." She said simply as she began to peel off the exercise outfit.

"Are you certain you are alright? You are acting quite strangely this morning."

"I think the shock has finally worn off." This woman had been nothing but kind, there was no reason to be unkind in return.

"I see. I am not certain how the master will take this development."

"He will just have to adjust." She said as she slipped into the bath. It felt good. She hadn't run like that in weeks. It felt good, but she was going to be a little sore later. Elaine smiled at her.

"I think a challenge is just what he needs." Annabelle smiled back at the older woman.

"Would you bring my clothes in here for me to get dressed? I always feel like I am being watched in the bedroom."

"Certainly, miss." She said as she left the bathroom. She came back a moment later with the suit and blouse on hangers, hanging them on a hook on the wall. The under things she laid on the bathroom counter.

"Will you want me to dress your hair, miss?" She said.

"No, I will just pull it back today, and my name is Annabelle."

"Yes, miss." Elaine smiled at her as she left the room.

She soaked in the tub for a while, and then was startled by a sound in the bedroom. She started to sit up, when Victor stepped into the bathroom door.

"You did well with the detective. I liked what you told him about the door. It could actually be true." He chuckled a little at that.

"Do you want something?" He looked at her in shock. She could tell he wasn't expecting her to be testy.

"I was hoping to be able to discuss my plans for the future." He actually looked nervous.

"Well, my bath is hardly the place for that discussion." She snapped at him. He bared his fangs in anger, a deep snarl vibrating through the floor; she swore she could feel it in the tub.

"We will discuss it where I say we will discuss it."

"Yes…master." She hissed at him, standing up from the tub. He gasped and stepped back. One thing she had learned about him, her nakedness, her body was somehow intimidating to him. She had gained some leverage, some control over the situation with that knowledge. He just stared at her for a moment, she watched his hands clench into fists, and his entire body tense.

"GET DRESSED." He roared, storming out of the bathroom, and she could hear the slam of the bedroom door. She smirked. Got ya, all she had to do was keep him off balance, cooperate fully, but use her leverage when she needed. She would have him wrapped up in knots. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but the prize was worth it, freedom. He didn't realize, that if he just asked her to stay, gave her the choice, she probably would, but until he did, she was going to twist him any way she could.

She didn't know where this feeling of power came from, she remembered feeling this after the locker room, that somehow she could have gained power from what had happened, but she had been too frightened of not only what had happened but how her body had reacted to even attempt to use her sexuality for any form of power. That is what she was doing with him, and the rush of power, the rush of health and wellbeing she felt was phenomenal, almost intoxicating.

After the rape, her injuries had healed almost immediately, there had been no evidence that anything had happened to her. If the other girl hadn't been attacked, no one would have ever known what happened. They still questioned why she wasn't bruised, why there weren't internal injuries from what had happened. She couldn't explain to them, she didn't know how or why it had happened, but it had.

She felt invigorated, and somehow knew there would be no sore muscles from her run. She slipped into her clothing, wondering just how far she could take this. Best not to push it, for now, she walked out of the bathroom, leaving the mess for Elaine to clean up. These people were holding her; let them do the dirty work. Auto pilot had been turned off, Annabelle felt like she was awake for the first time in a long time, she felt strong for the first time since the rape. She didn't know why, she didn't care. Something he had done, perhaps it was giving HER the challenge, but somehow something inside her had begun to heal, something that had been bleeding for a long time, and she was going to relish the power it gave her.

She walked out of the bedroom. She could hear him in the library. She walked in, and sat in one of the chairs. He had said he had something to discuss with her. She waited. He looked over at her, as she sat, and she smiled at him. It disarmed him when she did that. Looked pleased, happy, it kept him off balance.

"I contacted some friends of mine. There will be a medical doctor come here in the next few days. I don't want your health to suffer in any way by your confinement here. Elaine said you have been suffering from shock, I should have considered that already and had medical assistance available, for that I apologize." She just nodded.One day, he would realize that she hung on every word, for each word he used; each phrase gave her clues about him. They weren't friends for example, and he had given up something important to get the assistance he was asking for.

Her shock wasn't the reason for the visit, either. Elaine hadn't known about it until this morning, and she would bet the farm that he had made those calls before she even hit the shower this morning. He was up to something, something to do with her, something that he was willing to take great risks to accomplish. She hadn't allowed him to glimpse this part of her, the part that weighed everything, analyzed everything. It was why she was such a damned good accountant.

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Annabelle, I want you to consider this your home, and if anything should happen to me, it will be. I have seen to that." That was a surprise. She doubted anything was going to happen to him, not with the healing ability she had seen last night, but the thought was there. What was he doing, what was he saying? There was something different about him, something almost tentative, timid, almost as if he were avoiding something.

"Is there anything you want from me, Victor?" She asked quietly, the wheels were turning in his mind, she could almost see them. He was trying to avoid something, avoid telling her something.

"Just your time, your companionship; last night was a mistake and will not be allowed to happen again. I could have hurt you, badly, and that is the last thing I want." He was looking at his hands, the claws out, curved back toward his palms. "These are not the hands of a lover, they never can be. You have to get that thought out of your mind, out of your concept of what you are doing here. You are not here to meet my base needs; you are here to grace me with your beauty." He was back to that.

"I don't suppose you have thought of my base needs?" She asked, snapping the words at him in anger.

She watched his reaction. He growled first, then paused, then snarled, then really looked at her a moment, then growled again.

"No."

"I didn't think so." She quipped sarcastically. He looked at her again, almost in shock. He hadn't been expecting her to snap out of it, or perhaps he hadn't realized that there was more to her than just an amiable, quiet young woman with no mind of her own. He was about to get a rude awakening.

"You can't…you don't…" she thought he was cute, stammering like that. She had put him off balance again. Time to go for the kill, she stood up and crossed to where he was standing, leaning on the desk. She stepped between his feet, and put her hands on the desk behind him, one on each side of his hips. He tried to back up, but couldn't, he looked almost afraid.

"I can…I do…" She whispered, before she kissed him again. Like last night, it was as if a flow of power ran through his lips and into hers. She could feel his body reacting to the kiss, his hands reaching around her, pressing her closer as he plundered her mouth, his hands wrapped in her long hair. She reveled in it; it was almost an electrical charge flowing from his body to hers. She moved her hands up along his sides, around under his arms, pressing herself closer against him. He slowly lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She smiled at him, and he returned it.

They stood like that for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed, and a snarl crossed his lips, she felt the rumble deep in his chest, but she wasn't afraid. He had never hurt her, he had had ample opportunity to hurt her the last few days, and there hadn't been a single scratch. She knew he had told her he killed those men, but somehow, that didn't matter to her. She knew he was leashed violence, but not to her, he never wanted her to see that side of him. He gripped her arms and pushed her back. Again, he wouldn't hurt her.

"You won't control me like that." He said, low and threatening.

"Who said anything about control, I just wanted to kiss you." She smirked at him. He pushed her back and walked away. He glared at her from the doorway of the library.

"There will be no more of this until after the doctor gets here." He said. What was the big deal about the doctor, unless he planned on putting her on some form of birth control? Well that wouldn't hurt her feelings any.

She watched him leave, and then pulled the book she had been reading yesterday off the shelf. It was one of her favorites, one she could go back to time and time again, and never tire of.

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Those verses made her think of him, of his raw power, the terror his victims must face under his claws and fangs. She knew she should be afraid, the logical part of her mind kept telling her to be afraid, to do what she had to do to survive, to live, and to find a way out, but somehow her emotions just wouldn't follow. She wanted to stay here, with this fearful, frightened man, so afraid of his own ferociousness, that he had to try to create this artificial world, just for a piece of humanity. Fear was the last thing she felt, pity just above it on the list of things she couldn't convince herself to feel.

Lust, that was as definite, power, for some strange reason she felt great power in his arms, a power she had total control over. Sympathy, not pity, she sympathized with him, she could see the signs, signs she saw in herself, the pain just under the surface, from abuses suffered, and never righted. Kindness, she felt kindly toward him. He had done nothing to hurt her, had given her every luxury, and she couldn't help but be grateful for that. This was something she had needed, even if he didn't understand it. She had needed this break, vacation, whatever you wanted to call it, to heal, to finally allow herself to break from the drudgery, the grey world, and finally look at herself, not as some damaged creature, but as something worthy of beauty, if only in his eyes.

She had always gone to the museums, the plays, the operas, the concerts, and always thought, 'I will always be on the outside, because no one will ever let something as damaged as me in.' She had one little niggling fear, that he would find out, find out how damaged she was, find out the ugliness hiding behind her mask, that she wasn't worthy of all of this, that she was the one who wasn't worthy of his touch, his caress, his kiss. She dozed off in the chair, the book open.


	9. Chapter 9

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece.. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

Chapter 9

What in the hell had gotten into her today? His head was swimming. The stunt in the bathroom had almost put him over the edge, so much like his vision of her, standing there, water streaming out of her hair, along her body, no shame, no fear, just pure beauty and art. He had wanted her, wanted to crush her against him, and had a brief flash of it, of his hands raking across her perfect flesh and the blood flowing behind them.

He slammed his fist into his desk. It wasn't going to happen. He could control this. The doctor would be here soon, and maybe he would get some answers. There had to be something going on. He hated calling in the geeks, knew they would sneer and snarl at him, and knew they would judge. At least McCoy and Grey were less judgmental than the others. As long as they left the Runt at home he would be fine with their help.

The Egg Head wanted him to help them on some missions, he wasn't interested in their damned missions, but to find out what was going on with her, he would agree to help if they needed him, short term. How had she gotten this deep under his skin? He was helping the damned X Geeks. From the first moment he had seen her, she belonged to him. He had known it. The blue doctor would be here soon, and he wanted to get this blood work out of the way.

He stood and walked out of his room. Across the hall was a room that no one entered, not even for cleaning. It was where his favorite works were preserved. Some of them the world had no idea they were admiring copies, he wasn't just good at killing. The Botticelli hung in a place of prominence, taking up one whole wall of the long room. It was this room that had inspired the windows for the rest of the house, with the steel plates, double panes and argon gas between. He had to preserve what he loved, and he loved his art. In this room, away from all the prying eyes, all the memories, he could relax, he could allow the beauty to wash over him, he could forget what he was, and just admire it.

He stood, just gazing at it. Her face was almost identical, except the little cleft in her chin was more pronounced, her hazel eyes not quite as green, and after her stunt this morning, well he had more to compare. She had that long neck, her breasts were a little larger, but still in proportion to the painting, her waist a little smaller, her hips just a little wider, her long blonde hair the exact color of the master's pallet. Her long fingers, he remembered them gripping his hair, pulling him closer…no, that had to stop. She was the Venus, she was a living work of art, as depicted by the masters, and she couldn't be for the likes of him. He allowed himself a tear, a moment of self pity, that he couldn't be human enough for her, that he couldn't love her without destroying her.

He dashed it away in disgust. He was Victor Creed for God's sake; no one felt sorry for him, not even himself. He growled and stormed from the room, slamming the special door, the lights going off automatically leaving the masters works in darkness, to preserve them. How was he to preserve her? She would grow old, die, and that perfection would die with her. Killing her wasn't the answer, because he was finding, her perfection was more than physical. She was intelligent, sharp, even had a temper, he had discovered this morning, talented. Death wouldn't preserve her movement, her grace, and the way she would sit in a chair, reading a book, the brush of her hand, pushing back an errant lock of hair.

"SHIT" he growled out loud. He was actually going to have to write all that down…when had he started writing poetry for crying out loud? Well with her for inspiration, maybe he should. He laughed at himself. He could just see it now, him hunched over a desk, scribbling lines, or carrying a note pad on a hit, writing down words as they came to him, over a eviscerated corpse. That image was so funny he laughed out loud, causing Arden to start downstairs.

"Are you alright, sir?"

"Yea, just thinking about writing some poetry." He had to laugh at the look Arden gave him. It was turning out to be an interesting day. He walked back into his room and looked at the monitor. She was asleep in the chair in the library again. She was going to have a crick in her neck when she woke up. He logged into his email account and cleared it. Nothing interesting anyway, he checked his accounts at the banks, and then returned to watching her sleep.

He stood up and paced the room. This was getting him nowhere. Where had that come from this morning? He kept going back to the bathroom, to her hissed 'Yes…master.' She had been so complacent, so gentle, so eager to please, and now, she was angry, he could smell it when he was with her, she was invigorated when she was with him, as if somehow she were drawing energy from him, and yet she was sleeping, so much. He didn't understand, he wondered what was wrong, why she operated at such ends of the pendulum. He watched her start awake, and put down the book. She left it open on the table, and stood, stretching. He had to turn away with a growl, even watching her on the camera, that movement made him want to rip her clothing off and take her right then.

She walked out of the library, and into the music room, she walked to one of the shelves of music and took down a beginning piano book. She sat at the keys and slowly began to try to teach herself to play. He watched her tentative keystrokes, her long fingers caressing the keys like he wanted her to caress him. SHIT. He looked back at the book in the library, what had she been reading. He zoomed the camera and smiled. Tyger, Tyger, by William Blake, she certainly knew how to get his attention.

Arden came in, "There is a Doctor Hank McCoy at the door, asking to see you."

"I'll see him in the downstairs living room." Victor stood up, and pulled on the jacket to his suit. He ran his claws through his hair, and pulled it back into a simple holder. He was clean shaven, since he had been to see Annabelle already this morning. He didn't want her to see him as the monster the world saw. He laughed. Hank was going to be surprised.

He left off the tie, he was at home, damn it, but he did want them to look at him not as Sabertooth, but as Victor Creed. He walked down the stairs, slowly trying to recognize the voices from the living room. McCoy's he recognized right away, the red head was there too, he sniffed the air, no Runt that was even better. The last thing he wanted Annabelle to have to deal with was a fight between them. There was a third voice he didn't recognize, someone he hadn't met yet, well a chance to learn about the enemy.

He walked in the door, and the red head's jaw dropped. The last time she saw him, he had been the wild man, furs and leathers, claws and fangs. Now he was at least covered with a veneer of civilization.

"Welcome to my home." He said, without a hit of a growl, or a snarl. The young Asian girl seemed almost disappointed.

"Victor, it has been a while." Hank held out a large blue paw. Victor took it and shook it.

"Yes it has. How have you been?"

"Good. The new Ambassadorial duties take me out of the lab more these days."

"We all have to fight the fight to the best of our abilities." He smiled, his fangs flashing in good humor. He noticed the kid jump.

"I remember the red head, Jean isn't it." She nodded.

"This is Jubilation Lee, she is taking biogenetics and we thought this would be a good field trip for her." Victor held out his hand to the young woman but she just glared at him. He took a sniff; of course, she smelled like the Runt, they must be close.

"I ain't going ta kill ya, kid. I don't like ta shed blood in my own home." She cringed.

"Victor, please, you asked for our help." Jean said, reprovingly.

"That doesn't mean I have to tolerate rudeness." Even Hank had to hide his smile at Jean's shocked face.

Arden entered the room, the good silver tea set and five cups. "Mrs. Creed will be down shortly, sir."

He tried to ignore the kid as she mouthed 'Mrs. Creed' to Jean. Jean just shrugged.

"My wife is the mutant in question."

"Oh, what kind of woman would marry you?" The kid had a mouth on her that was for certain. He almost growled at her, but settled for just a glare. She had a point. Annabelle was his wife only because he had forged the paperwork, she hadn't accepted him, he hadn't asked.

He watched as Hank stood, he turned and saw her walk into the room. She had changed out of the pantsuit from earlier, and into a flowing Grecian style dress. Her hair was pulled back in a simple headband and just flowed behind her. She looked like a goddess. He smiled and held out his hand to her. She just glared at him and walked into the room. His smile faltered.

"Annabelle, this is Dr. McCoy, Dr. Grey and Miss. Lee. They have come to do those tests we talked about."

"Really, Victor, you said it would be a few days." She glared at him, before a sly smile crossed her face. He didn't like that look, she was up to something.

"We actually had a vacancy in our schedule and decided to make the flight from New York." Jean said.

"You flew all the way from New York to make sure I wasn't suffering from shock?" He wanted to growl at her.

"No, to test you for an X gene mutation." Jean replied.

"So that's what this is all about." She glared at Victor, before sitting down on the couch. "Tea, anyone?"

"No, thank you." Jean said.

"Yes, please, two sugar, no cream, lemon." Hank replied.

"No, thanks."

"Please, my love." He smiled at her.

She poured Hanks, and then her own. Victor waited a moment, and then reached for the teapot and poured his own. She was exerting herself, fine, let her. He would deal with it later.

"We would like to take a simple blood sample, I have all the equipment we need in the Blackbird, and can have the results in an hour." Jean said.

"And this test will tell you if I am a mutant or not?"

"It will tell us if you are a mutant, and if you are what type and potentially what classification."

"Interesting."

Jean opened the metal case next to her and pulled out the equipment to take the blood sample. Annabelle held out her arm, and suddenly reached for Victor's hand. He smiled and held it. So she was afraid of needles, that was good to know. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, gripping hard when the needle went into the vein and he smelled her blood. Suddenly he realized she didn't take his hand for her comfort but for his. Why would she do that?

Again he was giving her an opportunity to escape, to tell someone what he had done, how he had wronged her, and again, she sat at his side, acting as an angry wife, but wife none the less. He had to admit, the flash of anger in her eyes made him weak with desire. He wanted her to stand up to him, like she had in the library, to give him hell, to arouse him. NO. He gripped her hand again, this time in anger. She gave him a tight little smile that said she would deal with him later, and he knew he was going to have another rough night, alone in his bed.

Jean and the kid left with the blood sample. Hank stayed. He and Annabelle were talking about poetry and art and music, and he just sat back and listened, occasionally interjecting a comment, but otherwise, just enjoying watching her, listening to her. They sat there for an hour, and then two.

"Let me go check on Jean, that test should be done by now." Hank said. He started to stand, when Jean and the kid came back in.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, it is just unusual. You are definitely a mutant, and at least a class five." He started. He hadn't picked up on anything that powerful. "Your mutation is like nothing I have ever seen before. It is part empathy, part healing factor, part something I have NEVER seen before. It draws power from your sensuality, sexuality."

Dear God, she was a true Venus. How was he to deal with this? Did the green eyed bitch say something about healing factor?

"What about that healing factor?"

"It is all wrapped up together. Her body regenerates, as she is surrounded by sexual energy, it regenerates faster. She doesn't just regenerate physically, but can heal emotionally as well, and it is projective, not just receptive. I don't know how it works, but it is powerful, very powerful, and potentially as powerful as…as the Phoenix." Jean whispered the last word.

He looked at his Venus, and watched her eyes. She was calculating, analyzing, absorbing the information, he was watching the gears in her head turn. This was a side he hadn't seen, one he was enjoying. This was something that could not be preserved, could not be locked to canvas, or paper, or even film; this was why she was his art, for the little things, that made her perfect.

"Will you three join us for dinner?" She asked quietly, as if she hadn't just been told she was the equivalent of a goddess.

"We would be honored, however we must return tonight. If Victor could spare you for a few days, I would love to examine this unique and colossal discovery in detail." The blue beast said.

"I am afraid that is not possible." He replied. "We are just settling into married life, and I am not ready to be without her yet."

Hank just smiled at him, and the three took their leave.

"Will you join me for dinner?" He asked.

"Am I being given a choice?" She asked her voice saccharine.

"Yes." He answered quietly.

"Then, no, I am not in the mood for polite conversation, and loaded looks. This has been something I never expected, never asked for, and I need to absorb it, understand it, and I wouldn't be very good company, master." She snarled the last at him.

He snapped his hand out, grabbing her arm and pulling her against him. "Enough. I got the point the FIRST time." He snarled down into her face, not hiding the darkness inside him. She snarled back in return, waiting for him to let her go.

He didn't. He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his. She didn't know how her anger excited him, aroused him, she didn't know what drove him to total loss of control. He was so close, so close to forgetting what she meant to him, to satisfying his bodily lust. He backed her against the wall, never letting go of her mouth, his hands gripped her hips, lifting her against the wall, her body felt so hot against his, her mouth sweet, her hands gripping his shoulders, pulling herself as close to him as she could. He couldn't stop; one hand came up, kneading her breast, feeling the hardened peak under the cloth of her dress. He was nearly undone, nearly to the point of no return, when he tasted it, just a drop, but enough, enough to cause him to push himself back, her blood. He had cut her lip on one of his fangs, and her blood tasted so sweet, too sweet.

He stepped back, breathing hard, there were scratches on her legs, where he had pushed her dress up, blood at her breast, where he hadn't noticed his claws, blood on her lip, bruised from his rough kiss, but her eyes, they glowed, they burned him, her passion burned in her eyes, her need burned in her eyes, and he knew, he KNEW he would never be able to satisfy it. And then he watched. Her lip healed, the scratches on her legs were gone. He turned, snarling, and left the room, with a roared "GET OUT, Get back to your rooms."

He stormed up the stairs and to his room; he didn't even notice the flow of air over his bare chest. He slammed his door open, ripping it off its steel hinges. He stood in front of his mirror, his hair was half loose, his shirt open, out of his pants, his jacket torn by her questing hands. He saw the marks of her nails healing, his own blood on his chest. She had BLED him, and then he noticed it wasn't only her blood he had tasted, but his own. He watched as the deep cut in his lip healed. That was when he knew, he KNEW, this was a losing battle, the monster would be loosed, and nothing, NOTHING would stop it. The problem was, which monster would win.


	10. Chapter 10

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

Thanks again to Lady Mage...huggles.

Chapter 10

She hadn't even eaten dinner last night. She didn't know where he was, didn't really care at the moment. A mutant that was something she had never suspected, she was a God Damned MUTANT. She had paced the floor, walked on the treadmill, and paced some more before finally dropping into bed in exhaustion.

Is that what this whole thing was about, something to do with her mutation? Is that why he was holding her here? Why he hated her, why he didn't want her around him? That made no sense he was a mutant himself. She twisted it and turned it in her head, as she lay there, waiting for her morning to begin.

What had that woman said, 'Your mutation is like nothing I have ever seen before. It is part empathy, part healing factor, part something I have NEVER seen before. It draws power from your sensuality, sexuality.' What did that have to do with anything? She remembered last night, his passion, the rough raw need she had felt in him as he pulled her against him. She remembered the power, the electrical charge running through her body; she hadn't even noticed any pain, although there was blood on her dress when she made it back to her room. Every touch had been perfect, like water to a thirsty man, and it had only left her wanting more.

She moaned, that wasn't helping, it was as if she were stuck where he stopped. She hadn't been able to give herself any release last night, her blood was still on fire, just waiting for the next touch. She needed him, needed his hands, his mouth, his body, to put this fire out, and he was not going to oblige her. She finally jumped out of bed and went to take another cold shower. It did nothing to help, so she turned on the hot water and stood under its pounding, hoping to relax.

She heard something outside the stall, and hoped it was him. She would drive him out, or make him put this fire out, one way or the other she would have some satisfaction, some release. Anger or lust didn't matter at this point. She ripped the curtain back, but it was only Elaine, picking up her nightgown from the floor.

"Good morning, miss. Breakfast will be ready shortly. Arden wasn't feeling well; I hope you don't mind my cooking."

"Is he alright?" If nothing else she had come to care for the older couple, she understood they were only doing what they were paid to do, this wasn't something they had chosen, they hadn't taken her freedom away, only him. He was the only focus for her anger now.

"I think so; he was just a little weak this morning, tired. I let him sleep." She smiled, and Annabelle knew the love between them was strong.

"Well, don't worry about me too much today. I will entertain myself; unless his HOLYNESS has something in particular he wants." The last said with a snarl.

"The master has left. He won't be back for a couple days at least. He was called out of town on business."

"Oh, nice of him to let me know, but then again, why bother telling slaves."

Elaine jumped at the sound in her voice, the anger, as well as at the word. "I am truly sorry. You don't know him, how violent, angry, and cruel he can be. Please, for your own sake, please try not to anger him again. I had to dispose of your dress, it couldn't be cleaned."

She just shrugged her shoulders and walked into the bedroom. If he was watching let him watch. She hoped she pushed him over an edge, that he would come and finish what he started, or finish her. Elaine had said he could be cruel. She didn't know the half of it. Leaving her in this state was beyond cruel it was torture.

"Elaine, I can dress myself, you go take care of Arden." She smiled at the older woman. Yes she would save all her anger for the 'master.'

She walked into the closet, exploring it fully for the first time. She found a comfortable loose dress, something that wouldn't be to tight on her body, and soft enough not to tease delicate and still aroused areas. She decided against shoes or stockings or even underwear, and then waited. She heard the steel door open again, and Elaine came in with a tray.

"Let's not even bother with the dining room." She said a conspiratorial twinkle in her eye. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

The two women laughed and shared breakfast. Elaine left a little while later, leaving Annabelle much to think about. The older couple had been in the employ of an elderly landed gentleman in England, but he had died without heirs, and they had been left to try to find employment in an ever shrinking market. Good domestic staff, trained by their parents to serve loyally and faithfully one family for generations, was no longer appreciated, not by the younger nobles, not by the newly enriched. They had almost given up, they had been fighting, and the marriage had been almost over, when he found them.

He had offered them a job at three times their former salary, in the states, a live in position. He hadn't explained, until they arrived, spending the last bit of savings they had, obtaining work visas, that part of the work was cleanup after his very lucrative temper tantrums. It had been hard on Elaine at first, but she wasn't actually in charge of the big messes, just keeping his clothes clean and neat, the house, serving meals when he entertained, which was rarely, and looking after all the art. The art works in this house made it worth living with his cleanup duties.

Elaine hadn't pulled any punches. She had told her the truth. He was a murderer, assassin, gun for hire, mutant terrorist. She had even heard of him, after the Liberty Island thing in New York a couple years back, Sabretooth. Elaine had told her that the marriage was legal, as long as she didn't contest it, and he had it set up in such a way, it would be very hard to contest. She didn't care at this point. She wanted revenge. She wanted his pain, she wanted to take his freedom away from him, imprison him in his own cage…with her as his jailor. But if the doctor was right, she could do that, without ever laying a finger on him.

She heard the door open, and Elaine came in. She looked pale. "I am going to have to leave the door open. I am taking Arden to the hospital. This is your chance, Miss. Leave, go. Arden and I will be fine, he won't hurt either of us, not now, and this is one thing he will forgive."

Elaine left, and she heard the garage door open and a vehicle pull out. Leave, freedom, it was right outside that door. She stood up and walked over to the closet, pulling on a pair of shoes. She walked out the bedroom door, looking for him, waiting for a trap. She walked down the hall, out the steel door and into the rest of the house. It was unearthly quiet. Not a clock ticking, a quiet hum of technology from somewhere, but she could tell the house was empty; she was the only living soul in it. She ran down the stairs, and to the front door. She reached out to open it, and then thought better of it. He had cars, might as well use one of those.

She walked to the garage door. Hanging next to it was a rack of keys, labeled for each car they went to. She quirked a smile and grabbed the MG keys. She opened the door and hit the button for the garage door. She slipped behind the wheel of the two seater roadster and backed out of the garage. She drove down the long driveway, and onto a main road. She had no idea where she was; just that she was near Seattle. She drove along the winding road, just enjoying the feel of the breeze in her hair, the freedom to drive in the morning sun. It felt so good. She hadn't driven a car in several years, not since she had moved to Chicago, and she just wanted the moment to go on forever. Finally she stopped, at a cliff top tourist lookout. She could see the city, and looked back the way she had come. She could see the house, just barely on the top of a ridge, its roof peaking out over the trees. She threw it a one fingered salute, and got back into the car. She started the engine, and put it in gear…and then stopped. She looked down at the city, and back at the house.

What the hell was there for her down there? Nothing, not a thing, she turned the car around and drove back, pulling it back into its spot in the garage, and going in the door to the house. She sat in the kitchen for a while, thinking. Then she decided to explore the rest of the house. He had shown her the bottom floor, that first afternoon, so she headed up the stairs. She knew, intimately, what was behind that steel door so she took the other hallway. There were four doors on the left of the hall but only one on the right. She tried the first door, but it was locked, and looked like it had a new door. The next door was a bedroom, but it was pristine, nothing in the closets, dressers, and just a normal bathroom. The third was the same, and the fourth was also locked. She walked back down the hall and tried the one door on the right. Dim lights came on as she opened the door. What was inside took her breath away. Statues, paintings, glass cases with illuminated manuscripts, tapestries, and on one wall…all alone, the Venus. She knew she would be back…she thought she might be beginning to understand him now.

She quietly walked back to her rooms. She went into the library, and found a book. Elaine had said she didn't know how long he would be gone, a couple days. She smiled; well she would have the run of the house until then. She wanted to call the hospital and check on Arden but she didn't know which one. She squirmed in the chair, her body still burning, her exploration of the house had served as a minor distraction, but as soon as she started thinking about him again, it had flared back up. She moaned, arching her back, wanting to feel his hands on her body again. Damn the man, she wanted to get her hands around his throat, she wanted to get her hands on him.

She closed her eyes and thought about yesterday. He had tasted spicy, like the tea, with a bite of something else, something that was him. Her hands had opened his shirt and she had been a little surprised at the soft coat of hair over his chest. It had felt almost like a soft short fur. It had tickled her palms, her fingertips as she raked them down his chest, she knew she had drawn blood, she had smelled it. His hands had been up her dress, on her naked skin, and it had burned, everyplace he touched was branded, burning. When he had let her go, and backed away suddenly she had wanted to scream, but there hadn't been enough air in her lungs.

He had roared at her, his fangs flashing, his eyes blazing, his claws out, blood on them, her blood. She had smiled as he stormed off. He had looked frazzled, his hair half out of the band at the base of his neck. He had been wild, like a wild animal, and it had stirred something inside her. She had wanted him, right then, against that wall, she knew he had wanted her, but he had left, left her, stormed off in a rage, and the left. Left the house, left her here alone, with no one to talk to, no one to distract her from the burning he had started. He didn't know it, but he had made a huge mistake.

She stood up, dropping her book. Maybe some exercise something to distract her. She was going to kill him, when he got back. She didn't know how yet, but she was going to bring him to the point of death, and then watch as he reached for it, wanted it, and then she was going to snatch it away, make him live. He wanted her to see him as a monster, well he had succeeded. She didn't know exactly how, but she knew she had a power, a power over him, and she was going to use it.

She rode the bike, ran on the treadmill, and did sit ups, pushups, anything to wear herself out. He wanted to play games then by God she was naming the rules.

She was soaking in a bath when Elaine came back.

"Miss, I thought you would be gone." She said.

"Oh, no, I came back…I am not letting him off the hook that easily." She could tell she scared Elaine with that comment.

"Miss, he is dangerous, he will kill you, eventually."

"Oh, I don't think so." She gave the woman a humorless smile. "I think he made a huge mistake, and now I have a weapon to use against him."

She knew Elaine would tell him, it is what she was paid to do. He would KNOW she was back, of her own choice, and that she was out for blood.

"Enough about the dipshit, how's Arden doing?"

"It was a mild heart attack. He should be home tomorrow; they want to keep him tonight for observation. I just came to pick up a few things, but if you want I can cook dinner."

"Just leave the door open, I can cook for myself. You go take care of Arden." Elaine smiled at her, and left the bathroom. She knew the door would be open; she wanted it to be open when he got home. Wanted him to find her, here where he thought she belonged.

Men could be such idiots.

She enjoyed her few days of solitude, once the fire burned out, early in the afternoon of that first day. She worked on the piano, found a cross stitch in the parlor that looked like fun and actually sat and finished it.

She was in the gallery when she heard the front door open and then slam shut. She knew Elaine always came in the garage door, so she knew it was him. She just sat there, on the floor, knees to her chin, looking at the Botticelli. She waited. She heard the door across the hall unlock, and almost sprang up to see what his room was like, but decided against it. If she had her way she would be seeing enough of it. She listened, and there it was, his roar, his rage. He was furious. She wasn't where she was supposed to be. She grinned and waited.

"ARDEN." She heard him wait. "ARDEN. ELAINE." Nothing, no response, he came storming out of the room, and started toward hers, when he noticed the gallery door open. She could almost see him in her mind, trying to decide which to check first. Then she heard him behind her.

"What are you doing in here?" His voice was soft, controlled.

"Just admiring."

"How long have you been out?"

"A couple of days, Arden had a heart attack, had to go to the hospital, he should be home this afternoon. Elaine is with him." She heard his intake of breath.

"Why are you still here?" It was almost a whisper.

"Well, I thought about leaving, even took the MG, drove off, but frankly, I have no reason to leave, I had nowhere to go, nothing worth going back to." She sat there quietly, waiting for his response. Nothing, just what she expected. She stood up and brushed off the back of her slacks, not that the floor was dusty, more out of habit.

He was just standing there, staring at her, when she turned to face him. She wasn't sure if it was shock or anger on his face, but she smiled anyway, cocking her head to one side. "What, don't think I can make up my own mind?"

"It's not that. I can't believe you came back." She just shrugged.

"I think a few changes in the 'rules' might be in order."

"Oh, really?" he hissed at her.

"Yea, get rid of the damned door. I'm not going anywhere. I have had some time to think things through. Whatever this thing I have is, it isn't something that needs to be turned loose on an unsuspecting world. It's safer, locked away. The raw power I can feel coming from you is frightening, I would hate to feel the unchecked power of a large population area. Before, it was asleep, I think, but now, it's like a buzz just under my skin, it tingles, it throbs and I need to get control, to learn what I AM, before I could consider going out on my own."

He just looked at her, and nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yea, keep your damned hands to yourself." She brushed past him, daring him to stop her. He didn't. He just turned and watched her leave the room. She smiled to herself as she walked past the now open barrier between them. Let the games begin.


	11. Chapter 11

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

Lady Mage…thanks again for your help …

Chapter 11

"Yea, keep your damned hands to yourself." She walked past him, pausing slightly as if daring him to try to stop her. He didn't, he just watched her walk out the door. He heard her go into her apartment, and crossed the hall to his bedroom, the gallery door closing behind him.

What the hell had happened? He was gone for three days, and his entire world had changed. Hong Kong had been an easy job, businessman and his family. There had been lots of blood, but it hadn't quenched the fire in him. The teenage daughter had been tempting, but she wasn't his Venus. He had gutted her, instead, letting her blood spray across her parents' faces before killing them. He had been covered in blood when he left, and it had felt good; sticky as it dried in his hair, on his skin, soaking into his clothing, yet it had done nothing for his desire.

_Just who the hell did she think she is?_ Changing his rules, telling him to keep his damned hands to himself? Fuck her, it was his fucking house - his fucking rules! He felt himself building into a rage and knew that wasn't a good idea. He heard the garage door open, and the soft sound of voices.

He stepped out of his room and walked to the stairs, Annabelle came out of her apartment right behind him, but he didn't even look at her, instead he just took the stairs two at a time. What the hell had Arden been thinking, having a heart attack while he was gone? Hell, even he had to smile at that. He reached the bottom of the stairs as Elaine was assisting Arden through the kitchen and down the hall to the staff quarters.

"Everything alright?" He asked.

"Yes, sir; everything is fine. The doctor wants him to rest. It was a mild attack."

"I'll be back to work tomorrow, sir."

"Nonsense. You take what time you need." He watched the older couple walk down the hallway to their rooms. Fifteen years they had worked for him, they were fucking family, By God anything Arden needed, he would get. He clenched a fist against his side. He hated anyone he cared about being in pain. He turned and saw her behind him. He just walked by, but she put a hand on his bare arm to stop him.

"I think your rule needs to apply to you, too. KEEP YOUR FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF!" He roared at her, storming back up the stairs. SHIT! It felt like his arm was on fire. Just a casual touch and he was burning for her again. Work hadn't helped, if anything it was worse, at least the bloodlust distracted him. He needed her, he needed her body, but she wasn't for him. He remembered her blood from last time he touched her. Her blood - he had drawn her blood, and hadn't even noticed - hadn't smelled it; he had been too intoxicated with her arousal to smell the blood.

In his room that night, he had stood there, and let his own blood dry on his chest. He had stripped down, looking at himself, seeing the monster he always saw. He had hurt her, he had bled her, he had allowed himself to lose control, and now she would see him as the monster he was. There had been a message in his email, offering five million for the hit in Hong Kong. He remembered thinking getting away might help, so he had taken it. The entire time he was gone -the entire time - all he could think of was getting home, back to her - to try to make it up to her. He had calmed down about halfway through the flight. He had thought of her constantly, and had his body not been in that constant state of arousal, and even though the work had gone smoothly, hell he hadn't enjoyed it. The five million was a nice lump in his account though; it almost paid for the renovations to her apartments.

He had NOT expected what he came home to. He had walked in the door, and the house had smelled stale, like it was empty. He had slammed the door, thinking Arden and Elaine were just out. He was annoyed that they weren't there. Walking into his room, not seeing her on the monitors, Arden not answering, and then the gallery door open - he had been afraid, afraid someone had been here. Finding Annabelle there, sitting in his favorite spot, in front of the masterwork, it was a vision he had wanted for a while; one that was now seared onto his brain, right along with "_Keep your damned hands to yourself_."

Like HELL. He was standing in front of her damned door.

How in the hell did I end up here?

He started to turn, but he heard her voice: "What the hell do you want?"

She slammed the bedroom door open. Her blouse was unbuttoned, slacks on the floor. She was standing there one arm on the door jam, the other hand on her hip. He knew what he wanted, and hell was the right description. He just stood there, before reaching out for her. His fingers grazed her stomach as she turned away, moving out of his reach, casually, as if she hadn't noticed him reaching for her, but he knew better, he had seen that spark in her eye before she turned.

"I thought we agreed to hands off." She said, walking further into the room. He could hear the bathwater running in the bathroom, and smell the lavender.

"That ain't going ta work and you know it." SHIT. He was still mentally in work mode, and his diction proved it. He shook his head. "I'm sorry…"

"For what? Letting down your guard? For letting me see something unstaged?" She slipped the blouse off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor. She was standing there in a simple white bra and cream lace panties. He just stood there, stunned.

"Hope you don't mind; I need to check the bath." _Mind_…

He wanted to run; he wanted to grab her and throw her on that bed and…He shook his head slowly, grinding his teeth and growling.

He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't let her play whatever game she was playing but he needed answers, and he had already figured out, that to get them he had to play the game.

"I'm in the tub if you want to talk in here, or we can just shout."

He closed his eyes, then opened them; he picked up the chair from in front of the dressing table, and carried it into the bathroom. He sat down on it, leaned back, and put his feet up on the side of the tub. Two could play this game…

"You came back…That was unexpected. Nice, since I don't have to hunt you down and drag you back by your hair." She just smiled at him, lifting one wet leg out of the tub and scrubbing it with a sponge. She was trying to see just how far she could push him, he knew that, he knew she was trying to manipulate him with her body, and to a point he would let her. He had anticipated something like this when he planned the project; he just hadn't anticipated her mutation or his reaction to it.

"I told you I have nothing to go back to."

He stood up, put one knee on the tub and leaned over her; he cocked his head to one side, and leaned down. "You said hands off…" he whispered against her lips. "You didn't say anything about mouths." He crushed his against hers, possessing them, his tongue, and lips, and teeth letting her know exactly who was in command. He kept one hand on the wall, the other on the side of the tub. To pull away she would have to go under water. To push him away she would have to break her own rule. And then he felt it; her foot was stroking up his leg, her knee brushing against his groin. He pulled back, growling. She was good at this game; he'd give her round one.

"So this is how it is going to be. I can play this game. Can you?" Her face was flushed, lips swollen, and bruised. He grinned at her, before returning to his chair. He could hear her heart racing, and even under water, her arousal filled the room with her scent. He closed his eyes and inhaled.

"I guess I have to. But can you deal with the repercussions?" He growled at her.

"I can deal with anything." He snarled back.

She stood up. "Fine, hand me a towel."

He grinned and reached behind him. He handed her one of the small hand towels. She scowled at him, and reached past him to the towel rack. He deliberately leaned back, so that one nipple was right over his mouth. He reached out with his tongue and licked. She jumped back, yanking the towel with her. He just grinned, as he watched her towel off, enjoying every movement of her body. He was so close to begging - so close to ending this, but no, he NEVER begged. This was going to be hell, but even in hell, there was beauty, and he was going to take every advantage she let him have. She wouldn't seduce him, he wouldn't allow that, but by God he was going to let her try. He was definitely going to have to find something to entertain himself when he wasn't with her…he wondered if the Geeks would loan him the Runt…as a permanent punching bag.

Now that she was out of the water, her arousal was even stronger in the room. It was time for him to leave, before she pushed him over the edge. "Don't worry about dinner tonight, I'm eating out." He closed the door as he left, her cry of outrage music to his ears. He made it to his room, and collapsed in the chair in front of the desk.

She was storming around the bedroom, ranting and throwing her hands around. He almost turned the sound on, but decided against it. Let her have her temper; he wouldn't take advantage. Yet. He chuckled to himself, and reached down to adjust. This was going to make things very uncomfortable, but he had to get the upper hand again. His email icon blinked, and he opened it. It was from Raven, an old friend was in the neighborhood - just what he needed.

He pulled on a denim jacket to go with the T shirt and jeans he was wearing, walked out the door, and down the stairs. He shouted, loud enough for her to hear, "I'm going out for dinner, so don't wait up." He grabbed the keys to the Harley and went into the garage. He pulled out and down the drive. The air felt cool against his heated skin.

He was going Runt hunting. This should be good for a laugh at least. The email had said he was camping with a couple kids from that damned school, somewhere nearby. He knew of three public campgrounds near his home, and drove to check out the nearest one. He parked the bike in the woods, away from the road and hiked in on foot, coming in upwind of the campground, just in case this is where the Runt was. He didn't smell him, but he wanted to be sure. The camp was full of college kids throwing a party, a couple of families trying to have a 'nice family vacation' but no sign of Runt and a couple mutie kids. He slipped back to the bike and headed to the next camp on his list. He was half a mile away when he caught the scent.

He grinned. Yep it was the Runt, and the kid with the deadly skin, and another kid, this one he hadn't met yet. She was female, but that was all he could tell. This would be nice. If he could disable the Runt, maybe he could have fun with the other two while he watched…that was always the best entertainment. Torture them while he watched, helpless, it would be something to make him forget how close he had come to allowing himself to be seduced tonight.

They were alerted to him, but that didn't stop him. He hit the unknown mutant first, without knowing her abilities he wanted her out for the count until he could relax and have some fun with her. The other girl would go down easy, he didn't even worry about her, and his entire attention was on the Runt.

"Creed," Logan snarled, his claws popping out with their signature sound. So the Runt wanted to play. He would play. It was games all around for him today. He lunged in, getting a good swipe with his claws across Logan's midriff. Blood sprayed everywhere. He threw a casual backhand at the girl, slapping her into a tree. Now both of them were down for the count. It was just him and the Runt, the way it should be. He circled around, and Logan caught him with a slash across the back. He felt the adamantium bury itself deep in his back, but he just grinned, and used the Runt's momentum against him as he continued the swing, making him keep his claws in until the end of the swing and then sending him flying into a tree, like the end of the whip in a game of 'Crack the Whip.'

The Runt came up with a quick roll, and threw himself across the clearing, piercing his chest. Victor just smiled, as he extended his claws and dug them in, under those metal ribs and into both of Logan's lungs. He wanted him disabled, so that he could watch the fun, but didn't want to kill him yet. Logan ripped his claws out of Victor's chest, dropping back, blood flowing from his chest. Victor grinned.

"Nice ta see ya, Runt. I see ya ain't learned your lesson yet. Still hangin out with frails, one of these days you will learn, any frail with you is fair game." He taunted Logan. Suddenly he felt strange, as if something was pulling him down, toward his leg. One of Logan's passes had slashed his jeans at the knee; he looked down and saw the kid, the one with the skin touching his bare knee. He dropped hard, and then toppled over.

"Yea, nice ta see you too, Creed. I see you are still talkin people ta death." Logan spat at him. He started to black out, and then remembered her, his treasure, his art. He had to return, to protect her. He exerted an iron control on his will, and forced himself to stay conscious. He pulled himself up, away from the girl, and turned bolting into the cover of the forest. He could hear them trying to catch up behind him. The girl, Rogue, was shouting that he should be out – that she had taken enough from him - that he should be passed out cold.

They didn't understand. He had to protect her - he had to. They couldn't be allowed anywhere near her. He had to get home, had to get to her, had to make sure she was safe. He made it to the bike, and kicked it to life. He tore through the forest until he hit the road, and then, without thinking, headed straight home, his only thought to make sure she was safe. He pulled up the drive. He pushed the small button on the handle of the bike, and the garage door opened silently. He pulled into the garage, the door sliding closed on the dark night. He jumped off of the bike, and ran for the kitchen door.

Elaine was standing there, dressed in her normal dark dress, washing dishes and cleaning up after dinner. Arden was sitting at the kitchen table, in a robe and pajamas reading the paper as he burst through the door.

"The windows get the plates down on all the windows." He shouted as he passed through the kitchen. He ran up the stairs, to his bedroom, to the computer that controlled the security system for the entire house. He set it on the highest security sensitivity, and began cycling through the cameras. They hadn't made it here yet, but it was just a matter of time.

He was seeing black spots before his eyes, but he wouldn't allow himself to black out. He couldn't let Logan find her; he couldn't let him take his revenge that way. He knew what he would do if Logan had a woman like her, and he knew Logan would do anything to get him. He couldn't let him hurt Annabelle. After all the women he had killed, all the ones he had taken just to remind the Runt who was the best, he had allowed himself to become vulnerable. He knew the steel plates wouldn't stop him, that he would get in. He just had to make sure that Annabelle wasn't discovered.

Elaine came to the door, bandages in her hand.

"Sir, you are bleeding, badly. I have never seen you wounded like this, and not healing." There was true concern in Elaine's voice.

"We have to keep her safe. Don't worry about me. Don't let them get to her, no matter what happens, don't let him hurt her." He reached out to grab the post of the bed and missed, falling hard to the floor. He could smell blood, blood and fear, and knew both scents were coming from him. He had never been so frightened in his entire life. He couldn't allow her to be hurt. He had promised, promised her that she wouldn't be hurt.

"Seal the door." He gasped as he passed out. He saw a shadow loom behind Elaine, just as the blackness consumed him.

It was the Runt.

He was too late.

He heard voices, her voice, screaming, God no; not screaming. He couldn't move, his limbs felt like lead. He had to get to her to protect her, but somehow, his healing factor wasn't working. He could see shadows around him, he heard the Runt talking, and the other girl, the one with the skin was yelling at someone outside the room, and his Venus was screaming. He began to struggle to consciousness. He had to get to her; they couldn't be allowed to hurt her.

Suddenly she was there, by his side, her voice raised, screaming, and not in pain, not in fear but in rage. He opened his eyes to the amazing sight of her, poking her finger in the Runt's chest, backing him against a wall, and his eyes wide with amazement and fear.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but he isn't going anywhere! What the hell did you do to him?!" Each word was punctuated with a poke of her finger against his chest. The one they called Rogue was standing in the door, her jaw slack in shock.

"Annabelle." He whispered. She stopped shouting and turned to look at him.

"Victor, who the hell are these people, and what happened; this place is covered in blood, you are covered in blood!"

"Go back to your room, please. I will deal with this. Please, I am asking, please return to where you belong." His voice was barely a whisper. He didn't know what was going on but he was going to kill the Runt when he was back on his feet.

"Like HELL. Go back where I belong, I belong HERE. Last time I FUCKING checked I am your FUCKING wife. I am not going back into the safe with all your other art. You are HURT. You need HELP, and these people need to be thrown to the dogs, if they are the ones who hurt you." He looked at her in shock. In the beginning she had been gentle, docile, ready to please, just like the painting, but this virago, this was an art form of its own, he had to smile. She was a surprise; every moment with her showed him something new. He reached a hand out to her, and she slipped her hand into his.

"Please, don't let them hurt you." He pleaded with her. "Please, I need to know you are safe."

"Well, I guess the best way to know that is if I am standing right here, because I am not leaving until they do, and until you get some kind of medical treatment."

"He ain't dyin." He heard Logan say from across the room. "As much as I would like ta see that. Give me ten more minutes with him and he will be."

"What did you do to him?" She demanded, turning her head so fast her hair flew in an arc, causing him to think of paintings of Valkeries. He was delirious - he had to be.

"Ah touched him while he and Logan were fightin. Ah drained his mutation. He will recover, but it may take a day or so." She glared at the southern girl; his Venus could shoot daggers with her eyes. God now he was thinking poetically. Delirious, he had to be delirious.

"Well you can get the hell out! Barging into his home like this - no respect - attacking him while he is helpless. Attacking a poor woman just to get to him! Just get the FUCK out. You are the most pathetic people I have ever met!"

"Now wait a minute, Darlin, he attacked us first!." Logan shouted at her, trying to back her down with his bulk and presence.

"Well, what the hell did you do to cause him to attack?! It had to be something!" She wouldn't be intimidated by the Runt. Damn, he was proud; yep he had to be delirious.

"Hell, I wish I knew. We were just campin for cryin out loud."

"Just get out. GET OUT before I call the police!" Logan backed out the door of his bedroom. Victor noticed Elaine lying in the floor outside the door. Logan and the others had to step over her prone form. He was amazed, simply amazed. Where was her fear? Here was proof, proof of how much of a monster he was, and she was taking his side. She was helping his housekeeper to her feet, taking the bandages that she was still clutching and walking across the room to where he lay on the floor determination in her eyes. He closed his eyes and blacked out.


	12. Chapter 12

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

Thank you again Lady Mage...and thanks for all the good reviews...

Chapter 12

"_Last time I FUCKING checked I am your FUCKING wife." _

Why had she said that? It had taken all three of them to get him into bed. The two women had tried to do it themselves, but Arden had insisted upon helping. She had had them to roll him onto his side while she had cleaned and bandaged his wounds on his back. Then they had rolled him onto his back and she had cleaned up the wounds across his broad chest.

She was sitting in a chair next to his bed, watching him sleep. He was moaning, twisting in his sleep, and she was worried that he was going to rip his wounds open again. Elaine came in, to check on him.

"I have never seen him like this." The older woman said worriedly.

"What should we do? I don't want him to hurt himself any worse." Annabelle said, her own concern forefront in her mind.

"He needs sleep. His body is starting to heal, but it is slow for him. We need to keep his hands from tearing off the bandages." Elaine glanced around the room and finally grabbed a couple of ties from a hanger in the closet.

"He is going to hate us for this." Annabelle told the older woman.

"Probably." Elaine pulled one of his large arms up and tied it to the heavy wooden post of the bed. She handed Annabelle the other tie and the younger woman bound his other wrist to the other post. They had to keep his claws away from his wounds.

Elaine then left, to check on Arden and make sure the intruders had left the area, closing the door behind her. Annabelle sat next to the bed. She didn't know who those people were, but she wasn't going to allow them to hurt him.

_When did I accept this?_ She thought, as she watched his sleeping face. When did she realize that he wasn't the enemy? Was it that first night in the library, when he was so soft, so gentle, or was it earlier this afternoon, when he had tormented her in the bath. All she knew at this point was that this man had become her entire world, and she would do whatever it took to protect him.

She watched his sleeping form. _And he calls me art._ She thought. She and Elaine had cut his clothes off, and he laid there covered with nothing but a sheet, like a sleeping Adonis, no Prometheus, a Prometheus chained, and covered in his own blood.

She was tired - very tired - but she didn't want to leave him, she didn't want him to wake up alone. The bed was certainly big enough that she could lay down and he wouldn't even know she was there. She stood up and stretched. He was still moaning, dreaming. She watched him strain against the ties holding him to the bed. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed a hand gently on his face and he seemed to calm down. Somehow, in his sleep, he knew she was there. She stretched out next to him on the bed, laying her head on his chest. She was just going to close her eyes for a moment.

She woke to a strange sound in her ear…soft, more a vibration than a sound. He was purring. She felt his chin rubbing against the top of her head, and he had captured her leg between his. One of his huge thighs was pressed intimately against her and she could feel every movement as he shifted and adjusted to hold her to him. She could feel his arousal against her thigh, rock-hard in his sleep. Well at least he was having a better dream now. Her body was beginning to ache, and this time she knew, there would be no stopping.

"You know, that those damned bandages are going to be hell to take off." He whispered against her hair. "Tape hurts like hell." SHIT! He wasn't asleep. She lifted her head, and looked right into his black eyes.

"I think you can untie me now." He gave her a smirk "Unless you have other plans…?" She didn't know if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. She sat up, fighting him for her leg; he finally released it, grinding his thigh against her, and gave a moan of regret. His moan quickly turned into a hiss of surprise as she flung her leg over his hips and straddled him across his stomach, bunching the skirt of her dress up around her hips.

"Well, you know I DIDN'T have any other plans, but now that you mention it…having _YOU _at_ MY_ mercy, well that's a gift from the gods." She watched his eyes, waiting to see if he was going to fight her this time. She leaned down, bringing her lips brushing against his. He lifted his head from the pillow, capturing her mouth with his. Even without leverage, he took control. His tongue invading her mouth, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, his arching his back under her hips and bucking - making her ache to increase. The electrical charge from his skin only added to her excitement, to her need.

"I thought it was hands off." He whispered against her mouth.

"That sounds good to me." She whispered back. He groaned. She sat up, and she could feel the heat of his body between her thighs. She arched her back, allowing the sensations to flow through her. She ran her own hands down her sides, down her thighs to the mattress under her knees, not even brushing his skin, She felt his body heat up and the his body heat started a fire burning. This time, somehow, he was going to quench it.

She looked down at him. Okay she had him down - check. Now what the HELL was she supposed to do with him? She didn't want him knowing her only experience had been that locker room. She leaned down and kissed him again.

The only thing between their bodies was the sheet on the bed, and her clothes. Well she could at least put them on even footing. She sat up and reached behind her, slowly unzipping the dress. His eyes followed every movement. She reached down to the bunched skirt and pulled it up and then off over her head, throwing it in a pile on the floor by the bed. She reached back, slowly, cupping the sides of her breasts and then on around her back to unfasten her bra. He moaned again, bucking under her hips. She smiled at him and slipped the bra down her arms, and hooking it on one finger threw it onto the chair she had pulled next to the bed.

"UNTIE ME!" He growled, pulling his legs up behind her, pressing his arousal against her back, as he demanded his release.

"No. No hands." She leaned down and kissed his strong chin, nipping and kissing down his jaw line to his throat. She deliberately put her hands on either side of his chest, a hairsbreadth from his side, not touching his skin, keeping her own rule, barely. God she longed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, his soft down tickling her palms, like it was tickling her stomach and breasts. She sat up again, and this time she stood up on the bed over him, and slipped her panties slowly off of her hips. She let them slide to her ankles, and caught them with one toe, tossing them to land with the bra in the chair. She regained her balance and caught the sheet with her other toe and kicked it to the end of the bed exposing him fully to her eyes. She watched as he jumped, and arched his hips to try to reach her. She stepped over his chest again, straddling him, giving him full view of her naked body.

She was on fire, going on pure instinct. She knew she needed him; knew that he was the only thing that could satisfy this ache inside her. She was at a loss, though, as to what the hell she should do next? She felt a little tremble of fear, and suddenly his claws were out. His hands were free and he was pulling her down, rolling her underneath him.

"NO more games." He moaned against her mouth, his hands running down her body, hers tangling in his hair. It felt so good to have his body on top of hers, covering her. Here she felt safe, protected, needed. And then he was there, inside her, and she stopped thinking. She let her body take over, let her hands stroke and claw and kneed him, demanding what she needed from him. She felt his hands, gripping her hips, holding her down as he thrust inside her. She felt a sharp pain on her hips, from his claws, and suddenly she didn't know where she was, she didn't care. It was like a wave of water crashing over her and she couldn't breathe. She vaguely felt him grab her legs and pull them up around his hips, but the flow of power into her body sent her crashing into unconsciousness. The last thing she heard, the last thing she felt was his roar, its vibrations traveling through her entire body, and then everything went black.

"ANNABELLE!"

He was shaking her, crying her name.

"ANNABELLE!" He screamed.

She moaned. She felt like every muscle in her body was relaxed. She slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes.

"HOLY SHIT!"

She groaned. He was kneeling, her legs still around his hips, their bodies still intimately joined. She looked into his face and saw tears in his eyes. What was wrong? She felt so damned good!

"Annabelle," he moaned crushing her against his chest. She brought her arms up and around his neck, pulling him as close as she could.

"What the hell was that?" She finally asked. She felt him stiffen against her.

"I think that should be my question. You passed out. I hurt you." He whispered the last against her hair. He was trying to pull away from her but she wouldn't let him.

"Trust me, no, you didn't." She whispered back, with a small chuckle.

"I didn't." He sounded unconvinced. "I know I clawed you."

"Please…that was a scratch."

"Then what the hell happened?"

"Ummm…I don't know. I have NEVER felt anything like that before. It was just overwhelming." She was still breathing hard, and the rise and fall of her chest against his down covered one was causing tingles to creep down her stomach and between her thighs.

"NO. You are NOT ready for that again. I am not sure _I_ am." He gave a breathy chuckle against her hair. He leaned forward, laying her back down on the bed, and he pulled away from her body, regret etched on his face.

"What's wrong, Victor?" She reached out to touch him but he pulled back.

"This shouldn't have happened." She could see him getting angry.

"Victor, I need you, I don't understand it, but since that first moment, in the parlor, when I felt you come into that room, I NEEDED you! I have tried to convince myself to hate you, to be angry, to try to use you to get out, but I got out! I had my freedom in front of me, and all I wanted was to be here, safe, with you." He had pulled back, and was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. She didn't know if he was listening to a word she said, but she had to try to get through to him. She sat up, and he turned on her, snarling.

"Don't MOVE!" His chest was heaving, and there were more tears in his eyes.

"Victor, please. You started this, finish it. Kill me, fuck me, lock me up and throw away the key, but stop…stop toying with me! No more games, no more…no MORE!"

He looked her in the face, and then slowly, like a cat stalking a mouse he moved toward her on the bed. She didn't know how to take this turn in him, but when his lips crushed down on hers, she just gave up.

"That ain't what your body says." He said as he stretched out next to her. "It's telling me you definitely do want MORE." His hand gently stroked her stomach, and down the outside of her thigh.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She slapped playfully at his chest as he leaned over her for another kiss. His hand moved like lightning, capturing hers against his heart. She could feel it racing.

"I know." His eyes were serious. "I just don't understand. You left, why the hell did you come back?"

"It's funny. The only thing I wanted was my freedom; to be free to make my own choices, and when I got it, I chose to come home." She shrugged. She didn't know any better way to explain it.

"Home?"

"Yes, home; here, with you, and Elaine and Arden. This is where I belong. If you had ASKED…I would have said yes. And by the way…Yes, Victor Creed, I will marry you." She laughed at the shocked look on his face. She stretched on the bed, and rolled away from him, climbing out and padding toward the bathroom. "So, since you don't want a repeat performance, I am getting a bath…you are welcome to join me, and get some of that blood off of you."

She looked back over her shoulder, leaning on the bathroom door. He was still just sitting there, watching her. She turned and looked into his bathroom.

"What is it with you and swimming pools for bathtubs?" She said as she reached to turn on the jets and turning up the heat. Unlike the tub in her room this one was full of warm water and that was constantly circulating, and filtered.

"Well I am big..." he whispered from the bathroom door. She walked over to him, one of the bandages was hanging loose and with a sly smirk she reached out and jerked it off. He yelped as some of his down came off with the tape, but the wound underneath was healed, with just a red scar to show where he had been cut.

"A big baby." She teased, as she made him sit down in a chair and let her pull off the other bandages. He tried to swallow his yelps of pain, but they came out as little mewls. He looked down at his wrists, suddenly noticing what was tied them.

"Hey what the hell did you use to tie me down? SHIT! This is my favorite tie!! Why couldn't you use that fucking ugly yellow one in the closet?!" He exclaimed, looking over the ruined piece of silk "This tie cost more than your whole fucking outfit!" He was shaking the remains of his chocolate silk tie at her.

"Quit whining…" She pulled the last bandage off with a yank and he came screaming up out of the chair. He turned on her and stalked her toward the bathtub.

"Now you are going to pay." He growled. She slipped and fell into the tub, but he just kept moving toward her, climbing in himself. She splashed water at him, but it didn't even deter him, He waded into the tub, and reached out, grabbing her by the waist to pull her against his chest. He bent down and captured her mouth with his, in a punishing, bruising kiss that left her completely breathless.

"That's better." He whispered against her mouth, pulling her down onto the ledge under the edge of the pool. Pool it was, large enough to swim in, but he wouldn't let her go. He held her against his side, leaning his head back on the edge.

"At least let me scrub your back and get all that blood off."

"Naa, it'll soak off, and that won't hurt." He chuckled, and then turned suddenly serious again. "I just have one question. What were you afraid of? Were you afraid of me?"

"What?"

"In bed, you were afraid. I smelled it."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, not wanting to look at him as she tried to think of something plausible. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him what had really happened to her.

No, she wouldn't lie; there had been enough lies between them. If this was going to work, if they had a snowball's chance in hell of this relationship working, they both had to start being honest.

"I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I was afraid, afraid you would figure out just how inexperienced I am." Please let him take that, _please don't ask._ She held her breath.

He just sat there a moment, holding her. She let her breath out, thinking he was going to let it go. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see the expression on his face.

"Well, you obviously have some experience, somewhere." It was a snarl. "That was some show you put on in there." Oh, God he thought she was lying. SHIT! Now she _was_ going to have to tell him everything.

She swallowed and tried to slip out of his arm. He let her, and that told her he really was angry.

"I was fifteen." She pulled back to another ledge in the tub, wrapping her arms around her. "I was in the locker room at school, after gym class. One of the girls in my class was bragging about how different the boy's locker room was, and everyone else was calling her a liar. Finally, someone put out a dare, and my own damned curiosity got the better of me, so I took it. I snuck in; I didn't think anyone was in there…" She was watching the water swirl around, trying not to let the memory in, let the sounds, the feelings of that moment take over. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she didn't dare let them go.

"There were five boys from the senior varsity basketball team in the locker room. I heard lockers slamming, and tried to sneak out but one of them was behind me." She didn't even see him move, but suddenly she was in his arms, and he was crushing her to him.

"Don't say any more. I'm sorry. I didn't know." He kissed the top of her head, and then down, kissing her closed eyes, as her tears fell softly to his lips. She could feel the coiled tension in him, feel the rumble of the growl he wanted to let go. She knew he was still angry, but not with her.

"I just have two questions. Do you know their names, and where I can find them?"

"I know their names, but they were all punished, two of them are dead, they died in jail, the other three are still serving time. I wasn't the only one they attacked." He nodded his head.

"I'll get the other three."

"NO, VICTOR!"

"They HURT YOU!"

"And it was a long time ago, are you going to try to kill the rattlesnake that bit me when I was six?"

"If I can find it."

She laughed. He sounded so fierce, so serious, and suddenly the laughter died in her throat. He meant it. He'd kill them. She looked up at him; he was looking down at her. She met his eyes and they were cold, black and cold.

Now she knew, now she understood what he hadn't wanted her to see. It was one thing to intellectualize it, to know he could do it, would do it, but it was another to see the cold burning rage in his eyes, to know that nothing she could say, nothing she could do would stop him from carrying out his revenge for her.

"NOW…NOW you get it." He snarled. She knew he smelled her fear. She knew he was misunderstanding it. She wasn't afraid of him, of what he would do, she was afraid for him, of what it was doing to him.

"Yes, now I get it." She reached up, caressing his cheek. "I understand…I understand that I love you, and God help the world if anything ever hurts me."

He tried to pull back at first, but as what she said sank in, his eyes softened, and he crushed his lips down onto hers. He was hers, he thought he had taken her, possessed her, but somehow she had taken ownership of him, and that was a fearsome responsibility.


	13. Chapter 13

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

A/N Sorry this chapter is so short...

Chapter 13

"_I understand…I understand that I love you, and God help the world if anything ever hurts me."_

He was lying in his bed, her head resting on his chest. After their bath he had carried her back to the bed and made love to her again. They had dozed off afterward, and a slight noise had awakened him. _She loved him_. He was shocked. He hadn't done anything to earn it, to deserve it, and his Venus loved him.

He remembered watching her back the Runt into a wall, yesterday. Not much intimidated the Runt, but his Annabelle had. He couldn't stop grinning at the memory. She was his, HIS Annabelle. Completely, totally, she had given herself to him. HOW the hell that had happened he still wasn't completely sure.

The he heard the noise again. It wasn't Elaine or Arden, but someone was moving in the house. He slipped his arm from around his sleeping Venus, and slid out from underneath her body. She moaned a little in her sleep, and then curled up with a pillow, her golden hair creating a blanket across the white sheet.

He pulled on a pair of sweat pants, and stalked to the bedroom door.

"Jean, this isn't a good idea." He heard someone whisper harshly. It didn't sound like the Runt, must be the kid with the shades.

"We need to tell them what we found."

"That's what phones are for."

He pulled the door open as they tried to sneak up to it.

"The last bunch of X Geeks who came into my house unannounced got to deal with my wife…" He was standing in the door staring at the red head and her boyfriend with the funny glasses.

"Victor…what's going on?" She moaned from the bed. She was still half asleep.

"Just more unwanted guests, I'll deal with it this time, go back to sleep." He heard her moving on the bed, and looked back. She had climbed out and was wrapping the sheet around her.

"Annabelle, its Jean, I have some information about your mutation. Please, let us talk to you."

"Let them in…sheesh…can't have a moment's peace around here." He chuckled at her tone. She was just as annoyed as he was. At least she wasn't afraid, or angry, either one would have both the X Geeks bleeding in the hall.

"I have a better idea, I'll take them downstairs, to the living room, and you join us when you are decent." He grabbed them both by the arm and forced them to the top of the stairs and down. He pushed them into the living room and to the couch.

"Have a seat." He sat in one of the chairs. He heard Annabelle moving around upstairs and gave the two Geeks a nice feral grin. He was starting to wonder if it would be worth stressing Arden out to have to clean blood off the cream carpet, when she joined them.

She had put on a simple dress, and he could smell she hadn't bothered to shower. She still smelled like him, and damn it smelled good. He couldn't stop the grin getting bigger as he grabbed her hand as she passed by and pulled her down into his lap. She glared up at him and then just snuggled against his chest.

"You had something you needed to tell me." She said to the red headed doctor.

"Yes. I did a complete analysis of your blood work back at the lab. It appears that you will form a permanent bond with a male, your body will choose who it is, and you will be bound to him for life. And from the looks of things, that bond has already formed."

"Is this bond dangerous to me or Victor?"

"Yes and no. You will draw energy from your partner; it will fuel your healing factor, and projective healing abilities. Your partner will be your sole source of energy for this, if anything happens to your partner, you will most likely die."

"Then I guess it's a good thing that Victor is my partner, err…mate…whatever." He chuckled against her back. He was getting several ideas concerning his new…MATE…WHAT THE FUCK!

The idea of a mate hadn't entered his mind, especially not a mate that wasn't a feral. She was art, ok, more than art, but she was still a frail.

"Wait, if I ain't there, she can die?"

"Yes." He swallowed hard. He had planned on being responsible for her life, but not quite so…intimately. Well, he had to admit, regular sex would help his bloodlust issues. Like blood could tame his out of control sexual lust, satisfying his lust kept him below a berserk rage.

"Your projective empathic and healing ability is extremely strong, but extremely focused. It is completely related to sexual energy, you can trigger sexual reactions in anyone around you, and your range, is well, impressive. You can also use sex as a healing power, but you would have to be in physical contact with the person you are trying to heal. You can use the sexual energy of people around you and channel that into a healing power, the only limitations we can find for the healing power are you have to be in physical contact with the injured person, and you can only focus sexual energy, oh and you can't bring people back from death."

"If I have to have a mate for my healing to work, why did I heal up…before?"

"You have a slight healing factor on your own, not as strong as Victor's, with him as your mate, you will heal as quickly as he does, and probably live as long as he does. Before the mate bond was completed, you were able to draw energy from people around you, but not as much, or as well, and it should have left you drained, even a little depressed." The red head looked at him.

"Victor, I need to make this clear, her life depends on you, now. I hope you understand how serious that is." She stood up, her companion rising with her. "Scott and I will leave you two alone now, and Victor, please leave Logan alone." He just growled at the red head.

Their guests left, and he considered getting up and getting dressed, but it was so nice sitting there with her in his lap that he didn't move.

"Victor, is this going to be a problem?"

"No. Last night proved that I can…appreciate you without hurting you."

"Appreciate…is that what you call it." He could tell she was teasing him. She turned her body in his lap until she was facing him.

He chuckled. "Well, you are a work of art."

She laughed, and twined her arms around his neck. "As long as YOU think so, I think I can live with that." She reached up and kissed him. He twined her hair around the fingers of one hand, the other caressing up and down her thigh.

"Sir, I wasn't aware that you were in here." Elaine said as she came in with the vacuum cleaner.

"I think we are going back to bed." He stood up, Annabelle in his arms. "I think Mrs. Creed and I would like our breakfast in bed this morning." He saw the grin on Elaine's face.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Creed." She said.

He carried Annabelle up the stairs and back to his bedroom. Let the housekeeper figure out which bed they were going to be in.

He laid her down in the middle of the bed, with every intention of 'appreciating' her again but he noticed the small email icon on his computer.

"I'll be just a second…" He said to the woman on the bed.

She just laughed and sat up, reaching behind her to manipulate the zipper on her dress while he cleared his email. His attention was half on his Venus when the email in front of him demanded all of his attention.

This was just too good an opportunity to pass up. He buzzed Arden and Elaine.

"Get packed, everything, we will be heading to the London townhouse."

"How long will we be there?" His butler asked.

"Indefinitely."

He knew the couple would enjoy a trip back to their homeland, and he would have a chance to show his Venus the world. He looked back over to the bed. Her dress was down off one shoulder and she was giving him a pouty come hither look. Packing could wait.

He stood up, and walked to the bed. A fifty million dollar contract, loyal comfortable servants to see to their needs and his Venus were all he was going to need for a long time.


	14. Chapter 14 Epilogue

The Gilded Cage

I don't own Creed or anything in the Marvel Universe. This is not a continuation of the Cat series, but a standalone piece. When Victor Creed claims something as his own, he doesn't give up easily.

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

Chapter 14

She walked into the front door, pain her only companion now. The house was almost bare. All of the antiques had been moved to different residences over the last fourty years, the art he had moved to where ever he was living now. The house smelled stale, like a vault that hadn't been opened in a century. A layer of dust covered everything.

She climbed the staircase, and at the top looked at the reminder of what they had been. The frame for the steel door still hung, the door long gone. She walked into her old apartment; the parlor was empty, only the grand piano remained in the music room. She walked over to try to play a tune but the keys were broken, probably in one of his fits of rage. She walked to the library but the shelves were bare, the monitor for the old terminal broken on the desk. The dining room was bare as well, and the hall was empty without the Rembrandt hanging there. The bedroom was untouched, except for the removal of the Ruben

She opened the closet doors, the clothing she hadn't taken with her still hung on the racks. She walked back out, sadness weighing her down. She went back to the stairs and down the other hall. His bedroom door was open, the room covered in dust, she noticed footprints dust in the hallway, leading to the gallery. She was certain he had removed everything, but she followed them anyway.

He was standing there, staring at the Botticelli, claws out, his hands at his side as if ready to spring. She saw the familiar tension in his shoulders, and knew he had sensed her approach. He looked like he was going to destroy the painting, much the way he had destroyed her.

"Destroying it won't bring you any satisfaction, Victor." She said quietly.

"Annabelle, what are you doing here?" He turned, to face her.

"I thought I would come back to the cage. The gilt is gone now, but the bars are still tight." She was standing in a shadow; she didn't want him to see how badly the cancer had aged her. When he left, ten years before, she had still looked like the painting, a gift, or curse, of her mutation. Without him she had aged, sickened, and knew her death was not far away.

"Step into the light." He commanded. He always commanded, and she hadn't minded, but now, she was making her own choices.

"No. I didn't know you would be here, or I would have waited until you left to come home." She really hadn't wanted to see him. She couldn't remember why they had fought ten years ago, but he had walked out, left her in the New York penthouse, and never returned. Arden and Elaine had retired years ago, and they had been alone.

He had offered her a divorce, but she hadn't signed the papers. Even if his soul was fractured to the point he didn't love her, she still loved only him. Seeing him standing there, unchanged by time, his suit pressed, another of his favorite chocolate ties around his neck, hair slicked back, he made her catch her breath.

She waited, hoping for just a tingle, just a bit of the old electricity between them, but there was nothing. Her last chance, her last hope, and she felt it die within her. Jean had been partially right. It wasn't sex that charged her, filled her with energy, with life, it was Eros, physical love, and without his love, she was doomed.

He took a step forward, as if to see her better and she stepped back deeper in the shadows. She knew he would sneer at her now, at the old frail she had become. He lunged forward, and she knew she didn't have the strength or speed to avoid his grasp. He grabbed her arm, claws cutting through the sleeve of her blouse as he dragged her forward.

His gasp surprised her. He hadn't expected the ravages of time on her face, she knew, but she didn't think they were that bad. She felt a small tingle, and then it was crushed. She felt a small surge of hope again. He still felt something, and was fighting it. She wasn't going to beg him for her life; she would never beg him for that. He had made it clear over the years that it was his, to take or to give, not something she could ask for.

"What's happened?" He finally asked.

"You left." It was a statement of fact. Without him, she would eventually die, and that day was coming sooner than she had ever expected.

"No, there is something else, you are sick. I can smell it." He said. It wasn't concern on his face; she knew that, it was the old possessiveness. She almost laughed, but knew if she did; the pain would be too great. He wouldn't allow illness to take his possession away, but he didn't have a choice now.

"It's cancer."

"Your natural factor should have taken care of that." He sneered.

"My body can't fight this; it's too aggressive for my factor to heal." She saw real pain on his face.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think you would care."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

"Of course, Victor, I even went to Xavier for help, to see if they could find something, but nothing will work."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. I'm too far gone." She knew he wouldn't be able to tell she was lying, simply because she believed it to be true. She knew, even if he wanted to, he didn't have enough humanity, enough love left in him to save her. She knew he would try, if only to try to restore his piece of art, and she almost hoped he would.

She knew her body wouldn't be able to withstand him, and she didn't want to die a lingering death. She had considered, when she found out there was no hope, contacting him and asking him to at least kill her. She had even considered putting a contract out on herself, and hiring him to do it. But all she really had wanted was to see him again, to hear his voice, before she gave up and let this pain consume her.

She felt him pull her closer, felt his arms wrap around her, his clawed fingers twist in her graying hair. His lips were harsh, cruel, there was no tenderness left in him. She allowed her body to respond to him, to give him what he thought he wanted. She used what little power she had left to try to push his lust over the edge, if she was going to die; she decided that under him was where she wanted to be when she did.

He picked her up, and carried her to the dusty room across the hall; a cloud of dust was thrown up as he deposited her in the middle of his bed. She couldn't stop herself from remembering that first night in his bed, in his arms, and that memory pushed her to respond with a fervor she thought she had lost in the pain.

Their clothes were removed, and her naked flesh met the soft down of his, she moaned at the sensation she had missed so much. The feel of him, his skin, his light, soft fur tickling her, rubbing against her, but it was all physical, there was no tingle, no electrical current between them, and that was what she had missed the most.

She felt him enter her, moaned at the physical sensation of being filled by him again, his body knowing exactly how to bring her to a peak, and she allowed her climax to wash over her. She knew from their years together that he had a long way to go until he reached his own, that he would bring her to the brink over and over again until he was. He wasn't as careful with his claws and fangs as he once was, and she knew her blood would be staining the old mattress, but she didn't care. She was along for the ride, her tears quietly falling, knowing it was the last time for them.

His need was becoming more urgent, more demanding, and he quickly lost control, pounding against her, trying to reach his peak his own release. She felt a stab of pain deep inside her and knew something had been damaged, she felt blood, and knew he smelled it as well. It looked like she would get her wish, to die under his body, instead of alone. The added pain pushed her into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He felt her go limp under him, as his climax finally hit. He could smell blood, lots of blood, and the air in the room was sick with the smell of death. He pulled out of her quickly, a gush of blood and other fluids flowing out behind him. She was hemorrhaging…and he felt a sudden panic. It had never bothered him, in his entire life, to have a woman die under him, but not his Venus, not his Annabelle.

He felt tears flowing down his face, as he looked at her time ravaged one, her own tear tracks drying as he watched. He had to stop it, had to find a way to save her. This should have worked, she should be smiling up at him, health restored, not bleeding her life out on this old mattress.

It had been missing, he realized, that tingle, the current between them, it hadn't been here. She was going to DIE and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He could hear her heart, faltering, not enough blood left in her body to keep it beating. He gathered her body against him, his tears burning, and his throat raw with words unsaid.

She couldn't die, not now; he had come here, hoping to find her, hoping to get her to forgive him, to let him come home, back to her arms. Now it was too late, he listened to the last beat of her heart, and let out a roar of anguish and pain. She was gone, and not once had he ever told her just how much she meant to him, just how much he loved her. His tears flowed down his face, his claws dug into her cooling body, trying to keep her with him just a second longer, to let her know how much he needed her.

She had told him once, that she was afraid for him, that his rage, his bloodlust would fracture his soul past redemption, and he suddenly knew she was right. He was lost, forever lost in the dark, and his only light was fading with the warmth of her body.

He leaned down, and placed a gentle kiss on her cooling lips, his eyes closed, willing her to know, to feel how much he loved her before she left him forever. He rocked her body against him, the air cool, causing his hair to stand on end, he knew it couldn't be anything else, she was gone.

He heard a small sound, like her heart trying to beat one more time.

"I love you." He whispered. In all their years, he had never said the words; never let her know just how much. He had tried to keep her from feeling it, from knowing with her power, her mutation, that she was anything more than a work of art. He allowed himself to feel it this one time, to will her to feel it as well. It was his parting gift to her.

Her heart beat, again…and then again…and then it grew steady. He felt a huge surge of energy being pulled from his body, into hers, and suddenly he knew, the one thing she had needed, was the one thing he had tried to deny all these years. She NEEDED him to love her, it wasn't sex. He rocked her body against his, willing her to live, willing her to heal.

He felt something, something he hadn't felt since before he had walked out her door, a surge of energy from her to him, reaching in, trying to heal his soul. He heard a small sigh against his chest and realized just how long it had been since he had felt breath pass her lips.

He tilted her head up, her eyes still closed, but fluttering. He wanted her to see him. Her face had smoothed, the lines of pain no longer etched in her skin, her hair had lost the strands of gray, returning to the luster he remembered. Her bleeding had stopped and he could no longer smell the sweet smell of the disease that had consumed her body.

"This isn't happening." She whispered, her eyes still closed.

"Shut up, woman. Did you think I would let you fucking die." He could hear how harsh his voice sounded, even to him.

"Yes, actually I did." Her eyes finally opened, and he looked into them. They were no longer glazed with physical pain, but he could see her emotional pain etched into them. He leaned down and traced her lips with his.

"Then you are a bigger fool than I thought." He whispered against them.

"Just let me die, Victor, please." He knew just what that plea had cost her.

"NO! I am not losing you again." Her eyes were flooded with disbelief.

"Victor, please, I can't go on like this. I lov…" he cut her off with his mouth. He didn't want to hear her tell him she still loved him. He needed to show her how much he still loved her.

"Annabelle, shut up." He said as he lifted his mouth from hers. "I have something to say. I am not losing you, you are my life. I love you." It was simple, nothing fancy or poetic or artistic, just the simple words, but they were all it took. He lay back down, her body partially under him as he stroked her hip.

"Victor, please, don't…don't lie to me." He heard the agony in her voice, and realized just how much pain he had given her over the years.

He did something he rarely did; he dropped all his barriers and let her inside. He had protected himself for so long, even from her, that it was one of the hardest things he had ever done. He pushed what he felt at her, forcing her to see it to acknowledge it.

She didn't say a word, she just reached up and pulled his face down to hers, kissing him, and he tasted her tears. There in that dusty bed, where from the beginning he should have told her his heart, both of them began to heal.


	15. Chapter 15 Alternate Ending

Gilded Cage - ALTERNATE ENDING

The Gilded Cage

All the usual disclaimers…except I think I would like to own him…maybe chained in the dungeon…but that's a-whole-nother story.

A/N** I**** am ****posting**** the originally planned ending for Gilded Cage…if anything doesn't fit with the storyline as written it is because this story took a life of its own beyond the planning stages. This is the ending I had originally written, the ending that the entire story was BASED on in the first place, it is the first scene I wrote for this story, and will be my FINAL update for this story.**

Chapter 14 ALTERNATE ENDING

The door to the gallery opened, slowly. Its hinges little used in the last few years. He hadn't felt the need to come in here, to be with his art. So many things had happened. He didn't know when he had lost his way. The room was little changed. The artwork from her apartment was hung back where it belonged, in this sealed chamber, where it would be protected for all time. There hadn't been that many additions, and only one major one. A six foot by four foot by four foot glass case in the middle of the room, under the Botticelli; inside it, her body preserved for all time.

At first it had been good, having her with him, having her love him, but it was never enough. She wasn't enough, the blood lust had returned, full force, and with the Brotherhood, and the X-Men, he had less and less time for art, for beauty. Her sealed apartment had kept her safe. She had never seen his face, only heard his voice. The notes and messages they had passed to each other were still preserved, he still carried them with him. One day, after being gone a few months he had come home…and found her. At first he had thought she was asleep. Had tried to convince himself she was asleep, even without the sound of a heartbeat or breath, even with the blood soaked sheets. She had still been beauty incarnate, even in death. He had her sealed in this glass box, and placed in this room.

He had come daily, then weekly, now…it had been three years since he even opened the door. He heard the noises behind him, the movers. It was time to abandon the house, too many people knew about it. He stood there, looking at her frozen face, and began to signal them to take down the paintings, the cases with the Guttenberg Bible, the Stradivarius Violin, the medieval tapestries. Finally everything in the room was packed, everything but the case…he walked out the door and turned off the power. She would finally decay. There was no more room in his life for her.


End file.
